


aubade

by owlsareheadturners



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: All aboard the Angst Express, Multi, can you believe that, i wrote this at 3 am and i was so emotionally unstable that i made myself cry twice, its... a novella, mmmmentions of self harm, well there's tons of fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsareheadturners/pseuds/owlsareheadturners
Summary: "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [truthfullies](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=truthfullies).



> Took a little hiatus from Lucid to leap into this fandom.

It's around a quarter past ten, jogging back from the hotel lobby in the rain, that Hinata finds the body.

At first he isn't too sure of what he’s seen—or rather, that he has seen anything at all, it's so dark out. Floating in the pool, bobbing up and down with the cresting of each wave, is a dark mass that looks vaguely human-shaped.

As Hinata approaches, his heart climbing his throat with every other step, his rapidly accelerating fears are confirmed. That's a leg, an arm, a head; the torso separates itself from the black mass of rocking water.

Without a second thought, Hinata races to the edge and dives in.

It's a sweltering midsummer’s night, and even the rain that’s been falling is thick and warm, but the pool water is freezing, and the unexpected cold of it snatches his breath from him.

As it is, he manages a few decent strokes and that fools him into thinking that it'll be all right, that he’ll be in and out in a jiffy.

The next few strokes, however, become progressively more labored. His clothes, drinking in the chlorinated water, begin to drag him down.

It's not until his head goes under that he suddenly realises, alarmed, that far from being the easy rescue this had appeared to be from the edge of the pool, this was a trap; a sweet patch of deadly honey for an unsuspecting fly.

_Goddamnit!_

Hinata thrashes, the slap of his limbs against the water stinging his skin, and forces his way to the surface. There he manages to snatch a quick, grateful gasp of air mixed with rainwater before he sinks again.

He’s starting to tire, and between the water in his eyes and the debilitating cold, he isn't even sure how far he is from the body. For all the difference it would make, he might as well be struggling in the wide-open ocean that bordered their island prison.

The pathetic irony was that he'd be drowning in a tiny puddle of chlorinated water compared to that, but if he was being serious, did it matter anymore? After three Trials they had become nine, their numbers on the way to a slow but sure decline, and for all he knew, he might be next.

Perhaps this whole operation was some sort of trick he’d fallen for, the body a fucked-up decoy. If it was, he'll never forgive himself for falling for it—at least, for as long as he has left to live.

Desperate, he sucks in another gulp of air, flings out an arm into the suffocating blackness, and that's when his cold-numbed, flailing fingers catch onto the edge of a jacket, the cold tang of the metal zip.

The sudden sensation of solid texture in the midst of all this immaterial deep shoots something akin to adoration into the depths of his heart, and he feels like he could cry from relief and love for this tiny patch of material snagged on his fingertips.

At the same time, he knows he can't stop moving: now he's got to haul himself _and_ the body back to shore.

Already the flames of his stamina are sputtering, doused with spray from the tropical storm and the ardor of the journey here. Now he’s got extra weight to drag with him, and they’re sinking fast, their combined weight pressing the breath out of Hinata’s chest.

_I_ _t's all or nothing!_

He heaves with a wild cry, thrusting his legs against the water, and, like a heavy freight train gathering force, they move, him and the body through the molasses-like water; slowly, far too slowly.

As he’s paddling for his life, an inexplicable urge to laugh comes over him as the full absurdity of the situation flashes into his mind.

What might his classmates think when they stumbled upon these two dead bodies in the morning, claimed by the wrath of a passing summer’s shower and a resort swimming pool? He'd be his own victim in this little killing game, murdered solely by the fact that he was just too goddamned good at sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

_And I thought I could be a hero. Some Super High School Level student I am!_

Something uneasy in the pit of his stomach resurfaces, precisely at the moment when he's sure it couldn't get any worse than this.

_I don't even remember my own Talent, do I?_

It would be easy if he had some inkling; having woken up with a camera around his neck like Koizumi, for instance, might have given him a clue. But all he had going for him was this average body, his average mind, and perhaps stupidity beyond the average person.

 _That's it. Maybe I'm Super High School Level_ Stupid.

That wild thought is reconfirmed when he lashes out on his next stroke, and manages to smack the tiled edge of the pool so hard he suspects something might have broken.

“Ow!” he yells, and gets a mouthful of pool water for his trouble.

However, the very fact that he's reached the pool’s edge (excruciating pain in his fingers or otherwise) is ambrosia for the borderline drowned. The surge of manic energy it shoots into him sees him clambering like a swamp monster from a horror film onto the poolside deck, screaming with exertion.

He must look like a right mess, and anyone who saw him at this moment would think he was crazy.

But he's alive, and he's managed, just barely, to retrieve the body.

Right. The body. Another struggling effort, and the body is dragged from the water, flopping limply onto the poolside like a strangely anorexic beached whale.

Hinata lies on his back, his shirt sticking to his skin, and listens to his heart pound while he sucks in glowing breaths of gratitude under the rain. He loves everything—his puny self, the fact that he’s alive, the rain making his skin luminescent in the dark. Heck, he even loves that stupid corpse!—lying just a couple of feet from him with the water lapping innocently at its cold limbs.

Delirious with the joy of having accomplished his Olympian feat, Hinata takes another deep breath, huffing with effort, and turns to the body to berate it for being so heavy.

He's scarcely opened his mouth to speak when he sees.

It's Komaeda’s.

He hadn't been expecting it, he realises—too late to brace himself for the dead, sinking weight that crushes the newfound air out of his lungs in a wheeze of disbelief. To be honest, he hadn't expected _anyone’s_ face to be there, in fact; lids closed and chest deathly still.

The whole way through, jumping in, swimming over and retrieving the body, he should have known. It should have at least occurred to him that this… this _thing_ he had borne on his back and traversed the waters with had once been one of his classmates, and now it wasn't; it was just a mass of organic matter, indifferent as a lump of coal.

How could he have been so _stupid_? He should have foreseen that whomever it was, their drowned face would have burned itself into the back of his eyelids, at the forefront of his newfound horror and guilt.

Again he'd been lost to the throes of his idiocy. Somewhere deep inside him, he'd convinced himself that whomever he'd brought back would remain conveniently faceless, so he could just walk away like he'd been spear-fishing, leaving his blank-eyed, heavy catch on the beach.

_Fuck!_

The tears come then, thick and sloppy as the summer storm that has soaked his hair and trickles down the back of his neck, branding the chill into his bones like an accusation. He cries, rubs his eyes furiously, cries some more.

It's pathetic; he’s sitting on his knees by the poolside, wailing next to his former classmate, but the overwhelming emotions have rammed into his hull and he’s sinking, his heart swallowed by the dark mass of despair.

He might not have cared much for Komaeda—no one did—but it was Komaeda who, on their very first day, had stayed behind on the beach; who had woken him and cared for him and admired him like a slightly off-balance sheepdog with his wild white mane.

It was also Komaeda who had plotted to kill—no, to be killed—in the name of Hope, and the two opposing sides that blazed within him and ate him up like lava hissing against the ocean singed the edges of Hinata’s own consciousness too; hot and cold, hot and cold.

It’s Komaeda, who, as Hinata sits, couched in feelings of inadequacy, coughs violently, his thin chest jumping, and then breaks into a gasping fit, his limbs spasming so hard he almost falls back into the water.

Jarred to action, Hinata instinctively grabs the hood of Komaeda’s jacket and yanks, hard. Out of the water, Komaeda is much lighter than he’d anticipated, and with an immense, ear-splitting rip of fabric, they both fall backwards, Komaeda landing full-force onto Hinata’s torso and slamming the breath from him again.

Water gushes from his open mouth onto Hinata’s shoulder, surprisingly warm, and Hinata brings the flat of his hand down hard onto Komaeda’s back, prompting another round of coughing and a fresh stream of pool water. Komaeda sucks in a high-pitched, squealing breath, his chest pushing out shallowly against Hinata’s ribs in a slow, unsteady rhythm.

He’s alive.

Hinata hasn’t even had the time to process all that’s happened. All he can think is that one moment before Komaeda looked dead and now he isn’t; his fingers and toes are cold and brittle as chalk, but his breath comes in slow, warm wheezes onto Hinata’s left cheek and neck, and his grey-slate eyes explore the realm behind his eyelids in a slow slide.

He’s alive, definitely alive now, and it gets Hinata tearing up again for a reason he can’t explain, only that it’s got something to do with the fact that when something good happens to you in the middle of tragedy, no matter how small, it will always feel like a god has smiled upon you with beams of heavenly sunshine, and you will never forget the taste of that dizzy, irresistible euphoria.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hinata’s cottage is rather close to the pool, compared to, say, Ibuki’s; yet the journey feels like a fifty-mile trek through swampland. Komaeda's chest is pressed tightly to Hinata's soaked back, and so it’s with an immense relief that Hinata fumbles with the key in his back pocket. He extracts it with some difficulty from the damp fabric, and jams it into the lock on his door, twisting hard.

Hinata turns the handle with his free hand, and staggers into the room, dropping Komaeda onto the floor with a muffled thump.

He has no desire to share his room with anyone, but the unwritten laws of decency require that he not leave anyone out there in the rain and the dark.

Komaeda’s bone-white hair, sodden and repressed by the rain, drips with a sadistic glee all over Hinata’s clean wooden floorboards. His fringe is plastered to his forehead, peeling away the usual veneer of wild abandon, and replacing it with something more meek, more vulnerable, more… _domestic_ , if Hinata has to venture his classification skills.

Komaeda’s curled loosely into a foetal position, the translucent pale of his skin and shirt a stark contrast against the rich, dark wood.

The shirt has adhered closely to the lines of his skin, tracing the edges of his ribs where they show through, like the exposed laths of a ship run aground. A faded, watery pink tint gathers in two places at the lower edges of his stringy pectoral muscles, and his collarbones are sharp; well-defined; the hollow between them cast into light shadow. His lips are barely distinguishable in their colour from the rest of his face, the high cheekbones giving him an eerie, yet delicate look; more feminine than anything else.

He continues to make a puddle on Hinata’s floor.

Surely Hinata must take a shower quick if he doesn't want to get a cold, but Komaeda, on the other hand, isn’t going to wash himself anytime soon: the logical, though deeply painful solution, is to haul Komaeda into the bathroom, trailing sharp-smelling water behind him, and rest his back against the smooth marble wall so he doesn’t fall over.

Hinata makes quick work getting his own sodden clothes off him, but Komaeda’s garments are far more reluctant. His long-sleeved jacket finds every manner of obstacle to prevent leaving the body of its owner, and his trousers require nothing short of brute force for separation. Thankfully his shirt proves to be less of a chore.

Komaeda’s got checkered underpants.

Hinata stares.

His brain decides to remind him, rather uselessly, of the observation that the darker check is the exact colour of those stormy eyes, and when Hinata finally gets around to removing the underwear he has the sudden, perverse urge to rip it in two for its arrogantly distracting colour scheme.

Komaeda’s skin has the same pale quality all over his body, but quite disturbingly, Hinata notices, his left wrist has been marred by several long, deep cuts, slashes that bite horizontally across his arm.

They appear only to have been recently healed, and absentmindedly, Hinata sets a finger on the longest of them, traces the mottled scar that’s holding the surrounding skin barely together. He’s gotten the hint that cheery, awkward Komaeda isn’t all he seems to be, but this—this is another matter altogether.

Who had hurt him? Or had he hurt himself?

The guilt of discovery catches up to him then, and, chagrined by his audacity, he pulls his hand away, drawing his gaze back to the rest of Komaeda’s body. Komaeda’s long, thin frame reminds Hinata of an elf; some creature come from another land, and if Hinata had thought Komaeda was feminine, there’s the (admittedly just as delicate) organ between his legs to prove him wrong.

Hinata banishes all embarrassingly juvenile thoughts of _size_ and _length,_ and twists the knob for the water, hard.

The water makes him gasp out loud, partly because of the shock of it being, well, warmer than the swimming pool water, and partly because it is—thank the heavens _—_ _not_ chlorinated.

He stands there for a while, letting it run over his neck and shoulders, down his chest, _down, down, down—_ and then removes the showerhead from its stand to douse Komaeda as well.

Komaeda, though still unconscious, twitches visibly as the water contacts him. That, at least, is a sign that he’s still alive, and, sadly enough, serves to remind Hinata that he has just stripped his classmate, they are naked in the same shower, and that classmate will likely be waking up soon, if not _now._ If that happens, he’ll never be able to live with the embarrassment.

Assuming, of course, he’s even _alive_ after the end of this fucked-up Battle Royale.

He turns off the water after a suitable duration, and in goes the shampoo, first into his own hair, and then into Komaeda’s, where he rubs the bubbly mixture into Komaeda’s scalp as gently as he can.

Komaeda’s hair froths up again, and Hinata, thinking, _what the hell_ , decides to run with what he feels is rightful retribution for all his corpse-retrieving, body-carrying services, and styles Komaeda’s shampooed hair into a number of absurd fashions.

(If Hinata’s hairstyle looked weird on Komaeda, it was because Komaeda’s body just didn't have the necessary refinement needed to pull off such a _noble, sophisticated_ look. What else could it have been?)

Still, after a couple of misadventures with the shampoo, Hinata discovers that Komaeda still looks the most tame with his hair flat against his scalp—just as it had been right after he’d been pulled out from the pool—and might he venture there… _pretty._ Of course, this is all from an objective point of view.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but the usual wild foam of Komaeda’s hair had obscured from him its true length, and now, as Hinata washes out the shampoo, it curls tamely about his neck, slipping to rest like a wintry water-grass in the hollow of his collarbone.

Hinata is afraid of body soap. Well, more accurately, he’s afraid of soaping Komaeda, because _skin_ is very unlike _hair,_ and innocent actions with the purest of intentions have the tendency to be misconstrued when _skin_ is involved.

Still he has to do it somehow, so as a sort of toes-in-the-water he starts with Komaeda’s neck. It doesn’t help him, he realises to his intense horror and regret, because Komaeda’s throat is pale and pretty (again, a purely _objective_ opinion) and it’s obviously natural for Hinata’s hands to want to follow the curve of that long neck, past the collarbones to lather his chest in long swathes.

Hinata discovers that Komaeda’s belly is surprisingly soft given his otherwise brittle rigidity, and his thighs, though thin, are soft and supple. His calves are more sinewy, his feet awkwardly large like some sort of stork or crane, and each of the pale toes is clearly defined, the bony digits showing through under the translucent skin like in a steamed chicken.

Hinata rubs the warmth back into Komaeda’s toes, as well as the arch and heel of his foot, just for the sake of it, and then works slowly back up the insides of his thighs, until he stops, just before the crux of his legs.

The force field of human decency has him fluttering his hands uselessly for a while, and he swallows, tries to clamp down the colour rising in his cheeks.

Obviously it doesn’t work. Something’s got to give, though—either he squats there until they run out of hot water, or Hinata puts his hands… puts his hands… _there._ Praying to every deity he can think of, Hinata steels himself, reaches in, and that’s when Komaeda Nagito chooses the worst possible time to open his eyes.

“ _Nngh_ … Hinata-ku… _un?_ ” Komaeda stares, eyes wide and understandably lost for words.

Hinata stares back, with his hand wrapped around his classmate’s naked dick for about two seconds, and then he screams.


	3. Chapter 3

“God, I'm sorry,” Hinata gasps as he scrambles back towards the opposite wall, a moist, clinging shame sticking to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I didn't mean to… I mean, I was just—”

The palm of his hand burns where he’d touched Komaeda, and he shoves it behind his back, as if that'll rid him of all suspicion.

“Was just… what?” Komaeda asks, brows pulling together as he sits up, slowly, and looks around. “This is… your bathroom, Hinata-kun? What am I doing here?”

Frankly, those are questions that Hinata would love to be asking, himself.

“Well… Well, I—”

Before he can think up a suitable excuse, Komaeda opens his mouth and cuts him off. Though he’s finally regained consciousness, he looks as though he might be better off dead. His breathing is raspy and shallow, his eyes seem to be staring straight _through_ Hinata, and clouds of dense grey ink swirl within his irises; writhing serpents of storm.

“Hinata-kun… was it you… Did you…?”

Hinata trips over his tongue in his furious scramble to get the words out. “Look, about this… I didn’t mean—I mean, it’s not what it looks—”

“Hinata-kun. Did you bring me here?” Under the laser blade of Komaeda’s single-minded insistence, all his clumsily phrased inadequacies evaporate. Hinata swallows, the inside of his mouth painfully dry, and croaks out his dreadful answer.

“Y-yeah.”

Komaeda lifts his head to pin him in place with a Look that sears the ends of his nerves raw, and Hinata doesn’t need to be Super High School Level Clairvoyant to know that this is _not_ going to end well.

“I knew it,” Komaeda breathes slowly, and Hinata feels his stomach plummet as he braces himself for the inevitable accusation.

“I knew it… You really are…”

_Fuck, fuck—_

“—Amazing, Hinata-kun!”

Wait, _what_?

“A—amazing?” Wasn’t he going to accuse Hinata of egregious perversion, or something to that end?

“That’s right! Going out of your way to save someone like me—your Hope burns strong indeed!”

 _Are you sure that’s the most pressing matter here?_ Hinata almost wants to shout at him.

_He’s not even giving me a chance to explain myself!_

Any normal person waking up in this situation would probably have run off screaming out of Hinata’s cottage, and yet here Komaeda was, sitting butt-naked on Hinata’s bathroom floor like it happened all the time, and calling him… amazing…?

“Look,” he tries again, battling the heavy inertia of self-consciousness, because if Komaeda is unwilling to broach the subject, he’d best do the explaining himself.

“I had to—you might have caught a chill if I left you out—”

“It’s okay, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda soothes, “Don’t worry. I understand.”

“You—you do?” Hinata’s heart unclenches itself a little, and his blood starts to thaw again.

Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it had seemed.

“Of course!” Komaeda smiles warmly, and Hinata’s this close to hugging him in gratitude.

“What else could it be? For you to go to all that trouble of saving the piece of trash that I am—surely you were just claiming the reward you deserve.”

Wait, _what?_

“No, that’s not—”

“There’s no need to feel ashamed about it, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda laughs, cutting him off abruptly. “After all, I’d be happy for you to use me as fuel for your Hope! Here, you can go back to where you were just now—”

He pulls Hinata’s hand from his chest, presses it down slowly towards his hips, between his wide-open thighs. His eyes burn with glittering shards of wild mirth, and his voice is a low, magnetic purr.

It’s strangely arousing as it is repulsive, and Hinata is frozen in place, antithetic emotions pulling him in equal and opposite directions with the net effect of a stupefied, open-mouthed paralysis.

“Hey, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s voice pinches and pokes. “Didn't you want to touch me just a while before? Are you disgusted by this terrible body now? It's okay, so feel free to do whatever you want with me, all right?”

Hinata’s trembling hand is close, so close to his soft skin—

“Like I would!”

Hinata snaps all of a sudden, a burst of shameful anger having filled that heart-pounding void within his empty chest. He shoves Komaeda hard in the chest, and Komaeda falls back against the opposite wall with a thud, eyes wide open in shock.

“Damnit, Komaeda! I don’t—I’m not, I wasn’t—I—Oh, just—just wash up, and get dressed, and go back to your cottage, all right?”

He hates the unspoken desperation in his tone, the way he’s drawn his hand close to his chest defensively, half-turning his back to Komaeda and flinging the words back over his shoulder.

It would have been better if Komaeda had gotten angry, or even returned the blow, but instead he straightens up, his hand pressed to the spot where Hinata’s palm had struck him. His expression shifts into a flat, quiet smile, too wide for his face.

“All right, then. If that’s, what, Hina—Hinata—”

And then he leans forward, his skinny body jerking, and retches, hard. A low groan spills from his mouth as pool water floods out of him, mixed with a pungent, thin bile. He coughs, the sound ringing against the tiles like a heavy slap, and for a wild moment Hinata expects to see blood.

“Oi, Komaeda!” he growls, one hand on Komaeda’s shoulder to keep him from falling forwards, but Komaeda just tilts sideways, head smacking against the floor tiles as he collapses, still retching hard.

Hinata panics at the sight of Komaeda’s sudden attack; all he can think is _water_ , and so he races out of the bathroom, his feet skidding on the wet wooden floorboards, and grabs his bottle off the bedside table.

When he returns Komaeda is curled up on the floor of the shower stall, shivering and twitching as small moans dribble from his mouth.

Hinata unscrews the bottle cap, pulls him into a sitting position as gently as he can manage, then tilts his head back with one hand, supporting the back of his neck with the other. He lifts the bottle to Komaeda’s lips, and trickles some water into his mouth.

Komaeda drinks, greedy, and Hinata has to tell him to slow down, to take it easy, or it’ll all be coming back up his throat again.

Eventually Komaeda’s able to sit up without falling over, and Hinata sets the bottle down, thoroughly exhausted.

Komaeda coughs feebly, his ribs jumping under his skin and his lashes fluttering like a flurry of snow, and Hinata notices, without quite meaning to, that a stream of water from his wet hair has bisected his thin chest, curving around his navel to slip between his legs. Swallowing, he averts his gaze.

“Hinata-kun…” Komaeda coughs again, and it takes Hinata a while to realise that it isn’t a cough, it’s laughter; laughter so weak that he’d misconstrued it as an aftereffect of Komaeda’s nauseous attack. “I’m sorry… you’ve had to go and save this worthless body again…”

“N—never mind that,” Hinata stutters, “Let’s get you out of here.” Swallowing, he reaches forward, one hand on Komaeda’s back, and the other at the backs of his thighs. Komaeda is as light as he looks, his cheek resting wet and warm against Hinata’s collarbone as he allows Hinata to carry him dripping out of the bathroom and back onto the wooden floorboards.

“Can you stand?” Hinata asks, trying hard to ignore the way the bare skin of Komaeda’s side shifts against Hinata’s belly as he walks. Komaeda nods, mild and mute, and Hinata sets him down by the bed, goes back for a towel. When he emerges from the bathroom, Komaeda is leaning against the bedpost for support, eyes shut.

Hinata walks over, and drapes the towel over Komaeda’s shoulders. Komaeda’s bony fingers curl gently into the fabric, and the corners of his lips lift slightly.

“Thank you, Hinata-kun. Showing someone like me such kindness…”

“Oh, be quiet,” Hinata grumbles, and begins to towel him off. He tries to be as gentle as he can—Komaeda looks as if he’ll fall apart under Hinata’s fingers at the slightest touch.

When Hinata wipes away the water that’s trickling down Komaeda’s cheeks from his hair, Komaeda reaches up and covers Hinata’s hand with his own. His expression is the most content Hinata’s seen it in ages, and it sends a shiver up Hinata’s spine. Quickly, he pulls away. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

Hinata’s clothes hang loose from Komaeda’s skinny frame: his pants sink low on Komaeda’s hips, and the collar of his round-necked shirt becomes, by virtue of Komaeda’s thin shoulders, almost a deep V, bisecting both Komaeda’s prominent collarbones.

Komaeda rubs his hair with the towel Hinata tosses him, and it starts to stick up again, returning some of his wild appearance to him.

“Then, I’ll be going,” he announces, one hand on the doorknob and his wet clothes draped over his other forearm. “Thanks for the hospitality, Hinata-kun.”

Outside the rain has given way to a wet bright patch of moon that hangs lazily between drapes of cloud, and the wooden planks of the boardwalk are slick with moisture. To get back to his own cottage, Komaeda will have to walk past Togami’s cottage, the absence of its owner more strangely and keenly felt in a time like now than any other.

Only when the door closes behind Komaeda retreating figure can Hinata sink onto his bed and breathe a deep, deep sigh of relief. It’s been a long night, and the exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, tugging at his limbs. The clock on his wall tells him that it’s a quarter past eleven—he should be getting to bed. Yeah, he’ll get a headache if he sleeps with wet hair, but frankly, he’s beyond caring at this point.

 _W_ _ould it be too much to ask for eight hours of good, solid, uninterrupted sleep?_

Hinata goes to the wall to flick off the lights, then, fumbling his way back to the bed, he lies down, pulls the sheets over himself, and closes his eyes.

The next second, the doorbell chimes loudly.

_Oh, for heaven’s sake. What is it now?_

Considerably irritated, Hinata heaves himself out of bed and stumbles to the door, fumbling for the handle. It takes him a few tries to get it open, but when he does, standing outside his door and bathed from head to toe in moonlight like a Greek nymph, is Komaeda Nagito, still in Hinata’s loose-fitting garments and a sheepish smile curving the sides of his pale lips.

“Sorry to bother you again, Hinata-kun,” he begins, rubbing the back of his head, “But can I come in? I put my keys in my jacket pocket this morning, but now I can’t find them at all. What a stroke of bad luck!”

_Keys?_

Hinata’s dazed mind stumbles between several possibilities; it secures the most likely one, and he groans. “I think I know where they are.”

Komaeda’s face lights up. “Really? That’s wonderful! As expected of a Super High School Level Talent! If you could tell me where they are, I’ll go and get—”

“Forget it,” Hinata sighs, pulling the door wider open and stepping aside to usher Komaeda back into his room. “I think they fell out of your pocket when you were, um, drowning back there. They’re probably at the bottom of the pool right now. You’re gonna have trouble finding them in the dark, so just come in for now.”

Komaeda’s eyes sparkle, and he practically vibrates with happiness on Hinata’s doorstep. “Thank you, Hinata-kun! Going out of your way to offer refuge to trash like me—”

“Just come in,” Hinata says, “And anyway, why d’you keep calling yourself ‘trash’? You're just as good as any person on this island, so quit it, will you?”

Upon hearing those words, Komaeda’s excitement is wiped off his face, as suddenly as it had come, and even Hinata is astounded by the abrupt reversal in countenance. “Oi, Komaeda?”

Komaeda chuckles bitterly, free hand shoved deep into his pockets as he tilts his gaze down and away, eyes hard as granite. “Ah, that may be easy for you to say, Hinata-kun, being talented as you are, but as for a worthless being like me—”

“Like I said… enough of that already. I might not remember what my Talent is, but I'm sure that even though you might feel like you don't deserve to be here, you do, just as much as me. You were chosen out of all those prospective students—that’s something like a one in a million chance; no, maybe even less than that! That's crazy luck if I ever saw it! And—”

Hinata swallows, recalling with a morbid fever how confident Komaeda had been in the efficacy of his Talent, so confident that he’d entrusted the full success of his fucked-up plans to it.

“—And, as scary as your Talent could be, it's got to have made your life a breeze, hasn't it? I mean, reliable, consistent good luck! How many people would _kill_ to have that?” He realises, abruptly, the irony of his words, and stutters to a halt.

“I mean—well, I didn't mean—actually—”

“That's… all right… Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s smile is pale and wan, but decidedly genuine, and Hinata realises, with a jolt to the heart, just how much it changes him; softens his features and lights a soft glimmer in his eyes; turns the irises a delicate silver.

“Thank you for your concern, but my Talent isn't all you make it out to be.” All of a sudden Hinata realises just how frail Komaeda is when he’s not being his usual cheery self; the large, hypnotic eyes are lined on their lower lids by clouds of dense shadow, and even as Komaeda smiles he looks as though he’s about to weep. Hinata has the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, to make sure he’s real, that he won’t just evaporate under Hinata’s fingers. Charged by a sudden concern, he swallows his apprehension. _Something’s definitely off with him._

“K—Komaeda?”

His voice seems to jolt something within Komaeda, who starts, and tilts his head up slowly to meet Hinata’s eyes again. Hinata shudders at the change in his expression; no, his entire demeanour. It’s as if he’s become a wholly different person to the one he was just five seconds ago, and an even greater contrast to how he had looked with his tame, soft body splayed out in Hinata’s shower cubicle. Now he appears possessed by some kind of demon that has forced his spine rod-straight, set his shoulders arrogantly in the manner of a man several times more muscular than he is, and his pale skin could as well be marble, marred by the wicked slash of his indifferent sneer; his eyes a fortune-teller’s pitiless crystal orbs. When he speaks his voice is a parody of his usual, inviting tone, stretched grotesquely to become both intoxicating and repulsive at once.

“You've got to understand, Hinata-kun,” he pleads, and through all the posturing—is that a thread of desperation tangled in the skein, struggling to make itself known?

“My Talent is unworthy beyond compare, and yet I can't do without it, you see. How pathetic! It’s everything I have now, but it’s taken everything I loved, everything I used to love. Isn’t that the best kind of tragedy?” A dense mist swirls within his irises as he spits a salvo of bitter laughter, chest heaving. The terrible sound writhes against Hinata’s spine, and deep inside him he wonders with a sort of horrified intrigue about just what could have happened to Komaeda to twist his personality so cruelly beyond recognition.

_Tragedy? Everything he’s loved? What on earth is he talking about?_

He opens his mouth to try to calm Komaeda down, to say something—anything—when Komaeda snaps like a rubber band out of his mad fit, his shoulders losing their arrogant cant and the frenzied storm in his eyes dissipating into a sudden, glassy calm, like he's just been drugged. He sways on his feet, and Hinata thinks he might just fall over from the effort of standing there. Komaeda takes a deep, shuddering breath, and exhales,

“Ah, Hinata-kun, I’m sorry, for burdening you with… all this, unnecessary… talk.” Sliding his gaze up to meet Hinata’s, his face contorts apologetically, and now he looks for all the world like a kicked puppy. The expression eats into Hinata’s heart like acid.

As repulsed and confused as he is, something within him urges the notion that Komaeda’s erratic behavior deserves concern, and so he’s sorely tempted to press further, but he doesn't want to snap the conciliatory olive branch that Komaeda’s offering, either. In the end, he decides to give it up for now. He’ll pursue the matter another day.

“Don’t be,” Hinata reassures, as gently as he can, as if he’s trying to soothe a distraught child. He puts a hand on Komaeda’s shoulder, and guides him into the room, Komaeda leaning on him heavily for support.

“It’s getting pretty late. You’d better get some sleep, hadn’t you?”

As if on cue, both of them look round at the canopy bed, sitting against the wall.

… Right. There's _only_ one bed.

  
_Damnit._


	4. Chapter 4

The bed is big enough for two, surely, but then that raises the question of whether or not he's willing to share his pillow with this—well—with _Komaeda Nagito._

Komaeda seems to have realised the inevitable, but it's Hinata who beats him to the punch.

“Tell you what, you take the bed. I'll, er—” This time, both their gazes are drawn to the floor, on which sits the wet puddle that their little adventure in the pool has produced.

_Not gonna happen either, huh._

Five minutes later, Hinata is sitting cross-legged on the bed, regretting all his life choices as Komaeda kneels behind him, running the fingers of his left hand lovingly through Hinata’s hair and wielding an electric hair-dryer in his right.

Hinata had thought about resisting Komaeda’s insistence that he would catch his death if he didn’t dry his hair, and then, partly because of the glory of the night and partly because of the fact that he was just too goddamn tired to resist, he’d given up, and sunk mutely onto the mattress while Komaeda wandered into the bathroom and rummaged around in the cabinet for the hair-dryer. He’d popped his head out of the bathroom door, waving the appliance like a little kid back from a treasure hunt.

“Ah, look, look, Hinata-kun. I found it!”

The rhythm of Komaeda’s fingers on his scalp and the buzz and whirr of the fan is hypnotic, and Komaeda’s seemingly too tired to make an attempt at conversation, which means that Hinata’s free to roam about in his thoughts.

How had Komaeda ended up in the pool? Had he fallen in, walking back from the hotel lobby in the rain as Hinata had? But Hinata hadn’t seen Komaeda, and he’d been in the lobby gaming with Nanami ever since dinner. She was... well, for lack of another way to put it, _extremely pleasant company_ , and spending time with her soothed away some of the surrealism of being trapped on an island and expected to murder your classmates.

He thought he might just enjoy her company over that of anyone else here, and with today’s gaming session, he’d collected all her Hope Shards. Five of them now sat, pieced together into five-sixths of a jewelled star, on a velvet cushion in a lovely pink box, which he kept in a drawer in the side of his Monokuma cutout display case.

Right after their session, he’d been seized by the urge to rush straight back to the cottage and put the last shard with the others, to see how perfectly they fit, but she'd stopped him, said she had something else for him.

And—of course—it must have been a joke or something, he didn’t know, but one moment she’d been standing there, holding his hand, and the next, she had her hands on her skirt, was hoisting it up above her hips, and then she was gripping the waistband of her underwear, pulling it down, down, down those long, sleek legs.

Before he knew it she was pressing something soft into his hands. It had been erotic just as it had been reverent; if anything, more like a wedding ceremony than a blatant striptease.

“I want you to have this, Hinata-kun.”

“Wh-what?” He’d blushed almost as red as the strawberries printed at random intervals on the cotton.

  
“It’s a token of our friendship,” she’d said evenly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and _fuck_ if he hadn’t wanted to kiss her right then and there, because maybe it might be a Girl Thing, but who exactly gave people _underwear_ as a declaration of companionly loyalty?

All the same, it just felt _right_ to be with her, like she was an old friend he had known from a long, long time ago; as if he had remembered her from a dream.

Komaeda, on the other hand—there was something wild and dangerous about him, a predator kept sedated in a cage of insecurity and social ineptitude. At least, that was what Hinata had thought about him.

They’d discussed him over gaming sessions, Nanami and him, wondering about his motivations. Nanami had told him, head in his lap and nose in a GameGirl, that people were like games—they might appear impossible to solve, but employ the right strategy, and they would let you into their hearts as you cleared stage after stage.

If Komaeda was a puzzle, Nanami would say that there was a definite way to solve him. _How do I solve someone like Komaeda?_ He’d have to be one of the hardest human puzzles ever created.

The others, they were pretty easy. Owari, for one, was motivated by food. And maybe “Nidai-ossan!”—as she liked to call him. There was obviously something going on between them, Hinata mused.

Maybe Saionji had just wanted a little sisterly love, and maybe Ibuki had wanted _one more song_ , but Komaeda? What did he want? Was it really as simple as hope? Was that all that drove him?

Nanami would grumble that he was going to hit a spike trap with that line of reasoning. He’d have to ask Komaeda what hope was to him, sometime.

Going back to the events of tonight, though—Komaeda had had to have left the lobby before Hinata had, and he hadn’t noticed anyone going out the door.

Who knew? Maybe he’d just been too focused on Double Dragon II. He couldn’t expect Nanami to have noticed him, either—she’d probably been more absorbed than he was.

Still, he was certain that if anyone came down the creaky wooden steps that led from restaurant to lobby, he would have heard. Maybe Komaeda had gone down the side stairs, then. But who in their right mind would do that in the pouring rain?

All the umbrellas available for loan were sitting on the umbrella stand in the lobby, and seeing as there weren’t enough for nine people, most of the others had retired early in order to share umbrellas. By the time the clock struck ten, however, there had been no umbrellas left at all.

Nanami had said that she’d stay up gaming, at least until the rain stopped, so he’d said his reluctant goodbyes, clutching her hand in his, then dashed out into the storm, heart twittering in his ribcage. That, of course, was when he’d noticed Komaeda’s body, floating in the pool like a piece of driftwood.

When had Komaeda left the lobby? Why had he left without trying to take an umbrella, at the very least? And how had he ended up in the pool?

More accurately, Hinata thinks to himself, _who had pushed him in?_ He hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility, so soon after their most recent Trial, but it was something he couldn’t rule out.

Logically, it seemed the most likely situation: someone else, having left early so they would be mixed in with all the other classmates, had then snuck out again, waiting by the pool slightly before ten. It had still been raining, hard, and no-one in their right mind would have been out there in that storm.

Yet whomever it was had set themselves up, at the edge of the pool, waiting for someone in the lobby to show themselves, to fall victim to that nefarious trap.

That meant the would-be killer had originally been waiting for— _him._

A shiver runs down the back of his neck. It had to be. Technically, targeting either him or Nanami was possible, since both were still in the lobby by the time it was ten, but he was pretty sure the killer had allowed for the fact that Nanami might be staying a little later.

They had known that he would emerge, alone, half-blinded by the rain and in a hurry to get back to his own cottage.

And they had pounced.

—And would have gotten him too, except for the fact that Komaeda had been conveniently around—what a terrible stroke of luck for him. The killer had probably had a change of heart, and decided to go with him instead.

After all, it was probably easier to target poor, skinny little Komaeda instead of Hinata, who was decidedly more substantial, and would have at least had a better chance at a struggle. Komaeda, on the other hand, had probably been pushed in before he’d even realised a thing. Hinata doubted he would have seen the face of his assailant.

If the killer was willing to settle for anyone who passed by, Hinata concludes, then they must have just been desperate for a dead body, as Teruteru had been.

There was no particular grudge against him.

_Thank the heavens._

Still, it didn’t make him feel a bit better that someone with a murderous intent was in their midst, and would no doubt strike again in the near future. That having been said, perhaps it was worth a try, asking Komaeda if he’d seen who’d pushed him.

“Hey, Komaeda,” Hinata calls, trying his best to sound conversational, and not confrontational. “Yeah… Hinata-kun?” Komaeda answers, raising his voice above the whir of the dryer. His voice is blurry, his words noticeably slurred, as if he's drunk. Hinata puts it down to the distorting effects of the dryer, though.

“Say, um, can you tell me what happened? Before you, uh, fell in?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing of importance, really… One minute I was on the edge of the pool, and the next, I was in the water.”

_As I suspected. Someone must have pushed him, then._

“And then, the next thing I knew, Hinata-kun had me naked in his shower—”

“—Don’t say it like that!”

God, did this guy have any sense of shame, or what?

“You saved a piece of trash like me, Hinata-kun. As expected of a symbol of Hope. Such fire! Such altruism! It makes me so happy…”

A curling current of giddy, intoxicated emotion swirls in Komaeda’s voice as he moves his fingers to stroke Hinata’s hair tenderly, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. It sends shivers cascading down Hinata’s spine to pool, deep and low, in his stomach.

He shakes off the web of feeling with some difficulty, clears his throat to expel the knot in his vocal chords.

“Y—yeah, I saved you. Let’s get over that. But what I really want to know is, what were you doing out there so late? I mean, were you in the lobby all the way until then?”

Komaeda flicks off the dryer’s switch, absentmindedly pokes the wayward tuft of hair on Hinata’s head that won’t seem to do as it’s told.

“Hinata-kun… you really _do_ have tsun-tsun hair.”

“Never mind that, just answer the question!”

Komaeda sets the dryer down on the bedside table, drawing his knees up to his chest, and Hinata turns round, glaring at him. Seemingly moved by Hinata’s antipathy, he begins to speak, gaze lowered; voice soft and hazy.

“I was… until a little before ten.”

That’s another of his suspicions confirmed, but the mystery’s still a tangle of unanswered questions. Hinata crawls to sit against the headboard so he’s facing Komaeda.

“What were you doing without an umbrella, then?”

“I figured that everyone else had probably taken them and I… I didn’t mind getting wet.”

_In a storm like that? You’ve gotta be kidding me._

Hinata sighs, resigned. “Okay. Then what happened? Did you see anyone when you were out in the rain?”

Komaeda shakes his head, damp locks shifting against his shoulders. “It was dark, and I wasn't particularly looking out for anyone, so I didn't notice. But believe me, Hinata-kun…” he adds, with a small laugh, “Most people wouldn't have wanted to be out there at all.”

_Which is why attempted murder becomes an even greater possibility._

Hinata wracks his brain for any possible people he could rule out. It wasn't him, for one, and it wasn't Nanami, and it couldn't have been Komaeda, obviously. So who, then?

Hinata curses the assailant for having chosen a rainy night, and a simple, no-frills method of murder. Just push, and wait, and everything would be over within a matter of minutes.

Which raised the question: wouldn't the killer have wanted to stay around to make sure his victim had really kicked the bucket? It didn't make sense to fail an attempt at murder due to neglect, because then everyone would be on their guard after that, and it'd be much harder for a second attempt to succeed.

And, on the off-chance that Komaeda was a strong swimmer, he could have made it out of the pool once the killer wasn’t around to keep an eye on him. How had the killer managed to send Komaeda so far out from the edge if they'd merely pushed him in? How had they made sure Komaeda had stopped moving, and then disappeared without a trace in the short time before Hinata had exited the lobby? A lot of things didn't make sense.

Hinata knows that given a good night’s rest and some concerted mental effort, he’d be able to work this puzzle out, but as it stands, there’s no way he can get his fingers into this Gordian knot. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Tomorrow, then,” he mutters under his breath, letting his head fall back in his exhaustion. From his upside-down position, he can see the tiered shelves with the Monokuma cutouts lined up in a neat row, where Nanami’s five Hope Shards lie waiting for him, and the clear, dark sky outside his window. There are no stars.

“Hinata-kun…” Komaeda calls out of the blue, “Hinata-kun… why did you save me?”

It’s very sudden of him to ask, and Hinata, awakened from his reverie, snaps his head back up to face Komaeda again. He’s slumped sideways against the wall, eyelids half closed and voice a soft, downy murmur.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” Hinata sighs, a gentle affection threading itself into his voice. “You were dying out there. Maybe even dead. How could I just leave you there? I’d have to be a monster to do that!”

“But if I was dead, Hinata-kun… there’d be no need to save me. You could have just called two more people to confirm my death for yourself. There was no need to put yourself at risk for trash like me. So why?”

Why indeed? Yeah, it had been stupid to jump in without thinking like that, now that Komaeda brought it up. Why had he jumped? Did he have to have a logical reason? Or was it just an unexplained, unexplainable impulse of the heart?

“I… dunno,” he mumbles, pressing his hand into his face, “I’m not too sure myself, actually.”

“It must be because… you’re _Hope_ ,” Komaeda affirms, having fixed his own explanation onto Hinata’s disparaging lack of motive.

“Hope that can even change despair into more Hope—that’s… the best Hope of them all! And you showed me… a glimpse of that Hope just now, Hinata-kun… when you saved me.”

He seems to be gaining momentum now, Hinata observes, falling backwards with his arms outstretched into a world where no one else existed.

“It… makes me so delighted,  just to see how much more your Hope can grow… You know, Hinata-kun, I’d love to be a stepping stone for your Hope! It’s a strong Hope, I can feel it. Even though you and I seem similar… almost as if we’re spectators of this game… there’s something different about you, almost. I’m so excited to find out what it is! Your wonderful Talent!”

He breaks off in laughter with his former manic energy returned to him—a chirping round of mirth.

Hinata can’t quite follow, but he supposes he gets the gist of it. Guy was horny for hope, or something. Hadn’t he said something similar back at the Trial?

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda asks, his voice back to a soft coo, and his manner subdued and docile, lethargic and sluggish once more.

“Yeah?” Hinata replies, distracted by the mystery and Komaeda’s strange manner and knowing that if he had the key, that one important thread that linked everything together, he’d be able to—

  
“Hey, Hinata-kun… Will you do me?”


	5. Chapter 5

Everything scatters in a flurry of feathers; he’s suddenly awake, the nagging pull in his gut whipping round to punch him, hard. “Wh—what?” he stutters, the back of his neck tense and all his limbs stiff.

“My… hair,” Komaeda replies slowly, having either not noticed, or chosen not to notice the effect his words had had on Hinata. “It’s still wet, Hinata-kun.”

As if to illustrate his point, he lifts a soft, damp lock, cupping it in his hand and bringing it close to Hinata’s face for him to see.

“Ah—” Hinata swallows. “Of course—right—I see.” Shifting uncomfortably, it takes him a few tries to get himself out of his cross-legged position and shuffle on his knees behind Komaeda.

Komaeda hands him the dryer by the handle, and maybe their fingers brush on purpose, or maybe it’s an accident, but he doesn’t know what to think anymore, only that his throat is swelling with a heat that’s not uncomfortable _per se_ , but in any case, shouldn’t be there, either.

He’s dealing with another _guy_ , for heaven’s sake. Of all the possible girls on this island—all of them attractive, too—and it’s scrawny, delirious Komaeda Nagito with a screw loose in his head that’s making him feel this way.

He doesn’t even come close to being pretty, Hinata tells himself, not even with his hair down like this, and his skin only a few inches away, smooth and supple.

Distracting himself from his discomfort with action, he flicks on the switch, testing the heat of the air with the tips of his fingers, and when he’s satisfied with the temperature, begins the most surreal grooming experience he’s ever had in his life.

The first few moments are generally awkward, because he doesn't want to be tearing out Komaeda’s hair; nor does he want to be so cautious he’ll render himself completely ineffectual.

It takes him a while for him to get used to the feel of Komaeda’s damp, silver-white locks under his fingers, and he has to keep reminding himself not to get distracted by the warm, cozy scent of shampoo rising from the drying hair, nor the pale expanse of the back of Komaeda’s neck, bared tantalizingly as Hinata tilts Komaeda’s head forward gently to aim the nozzle at his hairline.

For a long while there is only the whirring of the dryer’s fan blades and the whoosh of hot air, and Komaeda nudging sleepily into Hinata’s touch like some kind of domestic cat.

Hinata realises suddenly that Komaeda seems to be humming softly to himself as Hinata pushes his fingers through his hair—what would be the human equivalent of a purr, perhaps. It makes Hinata’s fingertips tingle with a crisp tartness, akin to the sensation of biting into a fresh apple.

Komaeda’s hair, Hinata finds, follows the same laws of physics that govern the process of merengue-making. Within ten minutes, despite his best efforts at taming it, it’s expanded wildly under his fingers, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Hinata groans with frustration as he attempts, for what must be the thousandth time, to quash that sheer _,_ silky _volume_ with his hand. It feels like he's trying to cram a hyperactive octopus into a powder box.

Komaeda isn’t helping either, because he’s conveniently fallen asleep, and he keeps swaying backward into Hinata. Hinata has his hands full just trying to dry Komaeda’s hair, and now he’s even got his chest pushed out into Komaeda’s back to try and stop the back of Komaeda’s head from planting into his face.

Had he always been such a lethargic person? He’d been so much more energetic earlier that day, and now he was almost as sleepy as Nanami.

Finally giving up, Hinata flicks the dryer off and tosses it to the side, glaring at it as if it’s the dryer’s fault that Komaeda’s hair won’t stay down. Well, he’s tried his best. At least Komaeda’s hair is dry now, and he’s asleep, which means Hinata can have some peace of mind.

Shifting further back onto the bed, he leans Komaeda’s body sideways so he’s lying down properly on the mattress with his head on the pillow.

Komaeda must have been pretty tired out, because he’s now snared in a deep slumber, his breathing so slow it’s barely perceptible. He could almost be a corpse, with his deathly-pale skin and his still chest.

Hinata suppresses a yawn; checks the clock again.

_Ugh._

It’s gotten even later now, and Hinata suspects that even if he were to fall asleep this very moment, he’d still wake up groggy tomorrow. Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he goes to turn off the lights. Instantly the room is bathed in a welcome darkness, and Hinata breathes a sigh of relief, glad that all the fuss is over.

Right—he’d almost forgotten the Hope Shards. The drawer beckons, but it takes him a while to find that last Shard, tucked away safely in the back pocket of his wet trousers. Thank goodness it hadn’t sunk to the bottom of the pool like Komaeda’s keys.

Jeez, was he the lucky one here, or what? Thinking about it, Komaeda was right. The Shard in his pocket only added to the mounting array of evidence. He could’ve lost it when he jumped in, so why had he?

 _Maybe I just wasn’t thinking clearly_ _… Yeah, right._

It’s an immense satisfaction he feels, fingers against the soft velvet as he slides the last piece into place. For a moment he expects something magical to happen—the completed crystal to light up, or play music, or some shit like that.

Obviously, he’s disappointed.

_Well, that was pretty dumb of me. This isn’t some anime._

Still, he feels compelled to take the shards out and view them against the moonlight leaking in through the window, and when he does, he notices, to his surprise, that the shards stay together now. It was as if they’d never been separated, and, when he examines the velvet box again, he notices something lying, silver and liquid, on top of the velvet. It definitely hadn’t been there before, he was sure of it.

_That’s weird._

It’s a silver chain, fastened with a clasp. Hinata has a hunch, and it’s confirmed when he brings the complete Hope Crystal up to his face, squinting hard in the moonlight. There, right at the corner of one of the shards, is a loop of silver, embedded into the crystal. Perfect.

Hinata threads the crystal in carefully, and fastens it around his neck. As the clasp settles into place, an involuntary shiver dances down his spine. He feels like he’s just slipped on a wedding ring. 

Walking back to the bed, he notices that through the window, a ray of moonlight has tiptoed in and kissed Komaeda’s cheeks, lighting up his sleeping face. As if he needed that now.

With an irritated huff he gets on the bed, careful to avoid squashing Komaeda, and drags the curtain shut forcefully. Flopping down onto his side, he turns his back on Komaeda’s sleeping form, and closes his eyes. They might be in the same bed, but that didn’t mean that Hinata couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there, barely inches from him.

Sleep comes at last, after a few long minutes of fidgeting and tossing and an uncomfortable, hot prickling at the back of his neck.


	6. Chapter 6

Hinata wakes up on the floor, the back of his skull rife with a throbbing pain. He must’ve fallen sometime during the night and hit his head.

... Huh? Wasn’t Komaeda, lying beside him, supposed to have prevented that from happening in the first place?

But Komaeda isn’t there. In fact, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Hinata follows the trail of light left by the bathroom door, slightly ajar, and the unmistakable sounds of retching, to find Komaeda hunched over the toilet bowl, chest and stomach heaving as he pours a dense nothing into the bowl’s still water.

His skin is a sickly shade of ash, like a week-old corpse, and the look in his eyes when he glances up almost sends Hinata reeling backwards.

“H—hey. You’re not okay.” Hinata stumbles over the first thing he can think of to say, but who can blame him, really?

“Go away!” Komaeda shrieks at him, a wild lack of recognition in his eyes, “No, don’t; don’t come near me; you evil—go, away—”

Then something catches in his throat, and he curls over into himself again with a sobbing moan, as if by shrinking as much as he can, he can avoid the wrath of whatever plague has befallen him.

“You’re definitely not fine,” Hinata hears himself say, as if from far away, and then, “I’ll see if I can get you something. Wait here,” he adds, as if there was even the distinct possibility that Komaeda might suddenly get up in his absence and bounce about the room like a rubber ball.

 _I think they had meds for nausea on the shelf the last I saw,_ Hinata thinks to himself as he jogs out of his cottage, heading towards the Pharmacy. Last he’d been in there, they’d had ever sort of medicine he’d imagined possible. _And Tsumiki was there, too._

Stop, he’s got to stop thinking about people who aren't here anymore. It’d just put an additional blanket of despair over his emotions, and he can’t afford that now.

It doesn’t take him long to get there, considering the fact that he has to thread his way through several large puddles and leap over countless patches of swampy earth, his shoes squelching in the mud that the rain has created on the island’s ubiquitous dirt paths.

A breath of relief comes over him like a breeze as the familiar sign, lit by a neon glare, comes into view, growing steadily larger with every step.

Soon he’s through the automatic doors, surveying the floor-to-ceiling shelves and being absolutely stumped at where to start. _Well, I guess anywhere’s good._ He supposes the shelf on the left, closest to him, would be a fair beginning.

Lady Luck must be on his side, because it doesn’t take him a whole decade to find what he’s looking for—the anti-nausea pills, a neat column of them lined up besides an empty row of—Hinata squints as he reads the label— _sleeping pills, huh._

How’d they manage to run out? It wasn’t like everyone on this island had trouble sleeping, right? Or maybe they did, but how else could you explain an entire row of medicine, gone in the scarce number of days that the Pharmacy had been opened up to them?

Who would take all of these—and why?

A sudden chill invades his gut, and he stops in his tracks, staring at the empty row. Had he just found himself involved in… yet another plot for murder?

_After all, that’s gotta be enough overdoses to kill a herd of elephants!_

Overdoses… An image leaps, unbidden, into his mind, where it has to do a couple of pirouettes across the stage before it gets his reluctant attention.

Drowsiness. Nausea. Hallucinations. Loss of balance. Dry throat. Uncontrollable shaking. Weakness.

_Komaeda._

_That’s it_ , that explains everything, all the disparate pieces in his mind that he hadn’t been able to put together before now.

Dread bubbles from the bottom of his stomach. It's the same nauseous sensation that had assailed him when he’d worked through all the clues, in every investigation, and realised, in equal parts triumph and trepidation, that he had an answer. That all other possibilities were out of the question, and if his half-baked, embryo theory was anything to stand on, Komaeda was possibly in danger this very moment—no, Hinata thinks, staring at the shelf, he should on all counts be _dead_.

Hinata shoves the first bottle of anti-nausea pills from the shelf deep into his pocket, and then makes a run for it.

He doesn’t stop until he’s bent over, lungs burning and chest cramping, in front of his own cottage. Fingers trembling, he reaches for the handle, tries it.

It’s locked.

He doesn’t have the keys; he’d been stupid enough to leave them inside, stupid enough to trust Komaeda with his own life.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Komaeda!” He yells, pounding on the door.

“Komaeda, open up!”

There’s no response, and so, disregarding the protesting from his aching limbs, Hinata rounds to the side of the cottage and peers in through the uncovered window. From where he is he catches a glimpse of pale, naked limbs on his bed—Komaeda’s legs, dangling from the edge.

Could he have already died, quietly, alone in Hinata’s room with the remnants of his warmth still rising slowly from the sheets?

“Komaeda!” He raps on the window, hard, but there’s no response.

“Damnit, open the fucking door!”

He must be waking every single living thing on the island now, but he doesn’t care, he can’t have another murder on his hands.

All of a sudden someone taps him on the shoulder, and he’s strung up so tightly he jumps a foot into the air.

“What the hell!” he snaps, whirling around only to come face-to-face with Nanami Chiaki, her hand still outstretched.

Neither of them speak for a few, heavy moments, and then Nanami pulls her hand away, slowly, brings it down to her side as if she’s just touched something unpleasant. Hinata feels like a criminal.

“Hinata… -kun?” Nanami says, hesitantly, the name struggling weakly from its chrysalis. “Are you… alright?”

He must terrify her with his fury, he realises belatedly—she’s shrunk away from him as if he might turn his wrath on her next, and there’s a revolving unease in her eyes, as if she wants to ask after him, but is terrified of his response.

Chagrined, he swallows the fire on his tongue, clears his throat a few times, and forces himself to unclench his fists.

“S—sorry,” he mutters through his teeth, twisting his head away. It's a terrible recovery, but it seems to work; a small, cautious smile spreads over her features and she turns back towards him, placing a hand over her heart in apparent relief.

“It’s… fine, Hinata-kun,” she says, though it sounds more like a question than an affirmation.

Just then, it occurs to him. “Nanami? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Mmm… Well, I went back to my cottage, but I couldn’t fall asleep, so I decided to play Super Mario when I heard you yelling out here. But never mind that—what’s the matter, Hinata-kun? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fi… well—” Hinata’s mind is strung between several different excuses, but none of them sound very plausible, and his open-mouthed hesitation only serves to make him look stupid in front of Nanami.

Eventually, he settles on the truth—it'll just have to do.

“Komaeda’s… locked himself in my cottage, and he won’t come out,” he finishes, lamely.

“Komaeda-kun? In your cottage? What’s he doing there? Don’t you have the keys?”

“Long story,” Hinata shoots back, more brusquely than he’d intended, and then he winces.

“Sorry—it’s just—not really convenient to explain now. But I need him to open that door.”

“Mmm… If you don’t mind, Hinata-kun, you could just sleep in my cottage. I could put you up for the night,” she says, as if it were a perfectly natural thing for a girl to do.

Hinata has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from going red.

“Look, I’d—er, love to,” he stutters, heart crowding into his throat, “But not this time around. He might be—” Hinata looks around, even though there really isn’t anyone out there with them, but drops his voice to an embarrassed mumble, all the same. “—dead.”

He doesn't know what he’s expecting, really, by telling her that—for her to be shocked? To run about calling for help?

Instead, Nanami takes the news surprisingly well, at least as far as Hinata can see. Her eyes go solemn as she takes in the information, and then she nods.

“Mmm. I see.”

Hinata, expectant for some sort of further reaction, is flabbergasted.

_… That's it?_

“Well, that doesn't sound good,” she decides, after considering the matter for a while.

_Like hell it does!_

“Maybe… I should talk to him.”

And without further ado—before Hinata can even open his mouth to protest—she’s trotted up to the window.

“Stay here, please, Hinata-kun,” she calls to him, and raps; once, twice.

“Komaeda-kun? …Komaeda-kun?  Um… it’s me, Nanami. I just… wanted to talk to you for a bit; is that okay? You don’t have to open the window if you don’t want to.”

Only silence answers her, and Hinata is starting to think that this is utter tomfoolery, trying to talk to a corpse—when suddenly, Nanami gives the window a little wave.

_He’s alive?_

Hinata confronts the urge to rush forwards and confront Komaeda.

Nanami leans forward so that her lips are almost touching the glass, and begins to speak.

Hinata has no idea what she’s telling him, or if he’s talking back, but all he can see by the moonlight is the radiant glare of her skin and the shimmer of her lips as she moves them, breath frosting up the cool pane. He shivers, even in the humid heat rising up from the boardwalk.

He’s so distracted, he doesn’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps walking back around to the front door, nor the click of the latch unlocking; the next thing he knows, the door has swung open a little bit, and Nanami has slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

_Hey, that’s my cottage—!_

But he’s been told to wait—by Nanami, no less, and so he resigns himself to staring into the distance with a heavy sigh, fingers drumming on his thigh.

Whatever game Komaeda’s heart has wished to play, Nanami, with her skills as the Super High School Level Gamer, will hopefully manage to crack all his puzzles.

It’s another interminably long wait before the door reopens, tentatively, and Nanami sticks her head out, shoulder-length hair swinging forward into the moonlight.

“Come on in,” she calls, beckoning, and Hinata marvels at her efficacy as he walks towards the door.

It feels great to be back inside the room again, surrounded by its familiar four walls, and Nanami gestures him further in. Nothing much has changed in his absence; no gory crime scene, no splatter of blood painting the walls and the floor. That much he can be thankful for, at least.

What he doesn’t expect is Komaeda, sound asleep on his bed again as if he’d never left.

Asleep, he looks delivered from pain—this temporary death sedates him, smoothes the raging ocean of his soul into a pacific, glassy mirror. His lashes are completely still, and Hinata is reminded of snow piling soundlessly onto the sash of a window.

“He got too tired,” Nanami smiles, one sleeved hand over her dainty mouth, and watching her, Hinata thinks he’s in love all over again.

“How the hell did you—”

“It wasn’t easy, mind you,” she pouts, and then her face relaxes into a gentle smile. “But I got through in the end, I guess.”

She rubs her left wrist thoughtfully with her right, and Hinata wonders to himself if she’s noticed too—the scars of some deep antipathy between Komaeda and his demons.

Either way, she’s worked her magic, and Hinata’s never been more impressed.

“You know,” Nanami tells him seriously, as though they were parents discussing their teenage child, “I have a good feeling about him. I think he’s not really trying to be nasty, or anything like that. In fact, maybe he just needs some friendship. He’s really lonely… I think.”

_Lonely?_

Now that Hinata thought about it, it’d certainly seemed that way, although he hadn’t been able to put his finger on what exactly about Komaeda had bugged him so much, until Nanami had put a glass jar over it, shown him the elusive glow of its name.

_Lonely._

“And that’s why,” Nanami says solemnly, finger raised, “We can’t just leave him alone like that. We’re going to be the ones to make friends with him, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata recalls Komaeda’s untamed, precarious frailty, the flickering blizzard of his eyes, and feels something bittersweet coalesce in the back of his jaw.

“Sure… He does need _some_ friends, I suppose.”

“Then let’s hang out with him every chance we get from now on!”

“Yeah, we… wait, _what_? _Every time,_ Nanami?”

“That’s right. What’s wrong with that?” Nanami pouts, and the serious expression on her face catches him off-guard, all his retorts slipping away through his fingers like they've been greased.

“Well—he’s not exactly the best sort of person to, er, hang out with—”

_Besides, I thought I was going to have you all to myself from now on!_

Without a word, Nanami steps up and pokes him in the chest, and he stumbles back a bit, hand flying to cover the stinging point of flame burning over his heart. She's much shorter than him, but when she lifts her chin defiantly, the light clings to her irises, coalescing into an intense gleam.

“That won't do, Hinata-kun,” she says sternly, hands on her hips. “How do you expect to make friends with someone if you don't spend time with them to find out what they're like?”

“I—I'm not saying we shouldn't,” Hinata stammers, pulling up his hands in front of him to block her onslaught, “But we have to hang out together _every time_? Isn't that, well, a bit _excessive_?”

Nanami considers this while Hinata obsesses over whether he’s really taken it too far this time around. Finally she folds her arms, and then lifts her gaze to meet his again.

A soft, amused smile curves her full lips, and he’s taken by surprise.

“Hinata-kun,” Nanami says, “How long you did you spend on the Super Mario game I lent you the other day?”

“Well, I… Um.”

“I seem to remember that you had it on you every waking moment, isn't that right?” Nanami continues, when he fails to come up with a satisfactory response.

Hinata feels the ground give way beneath his argument; the stomach-plummeting descent into her spike trap.

_Great. She's really nailed me this time._

“Hinata-kun,” Nanami says firmly, “If we’re going to make friends with him, we’ll go all the way. No half-heartedness. We’ll beat the boss level together!”

She reaches out and clutches his hand tightly. Her palm burns like a star in his.

_Ahhh… Looks like there's no dissuading her now._

Nanami might be pretty easygoing about most things, but the few things she sets her mind on, she clings to like a limpet.

Hinata deflates, shoulders slumping.

“Oh, alright then… I suppose we can, _uh_ , hang out with him from now on.”

Nanami clasps her hands together in front of her chest, eyes wide and sparkling.

“That’s great, Hinata-kun! Let’s meet up when he’s feeling better, okay?”

She starts to walk towards the door, and Hinata follows her dumbly. As she crosses his threshold, the full moon makes her a goddess; elevates her beauty, the sensuous curves of her body. Hinata forgets how to breathe.

“Good-night, Hinata-kun!”

Curse Nanami and her talent for games. He’s played right into her hands. Grumbling a hasty goodnight, Hinata stomps back into the cottage so hard the floorboards rattle, and slams his hand against the wall to turn out the lights.

 

* * *

 

So it had been… for lack of a better way to put it—an attempt at suicide.

There was certainly no other possible conclusion the evidence had pointed to. Hinata could just imagine him in the restaurant long after everyone had gone, glasses of water and empty cardboard boxes all around him—scattered pieces of silver foil and plastic casing; tears streaking down his face as he’d crammed the white tablets into his mouth; gulping down mouthfuls of water; his throat bulging with the effort.

And yet, by a miraculous stroke of luck, he hadn’t died. Hinata wondered what it must have been like to have woken up in the restaurant, in indelible agony, but still very undeniably alive.

Had a second death by drowning have come immediately to him? Of course he wouldn’t have come down the lobby stairs, in plain view of Hinata and Nanami, if he was going to attempt suicide.

But why? He’d always been cheery, happy, delighted, _kind—_ if a little intense and awkward—there was no reason to want to kill himself now, out of the blue, all of a sudden.

And then Nanami’s words come back to him.

 _“I think he just needs some_ friendship _. He’s really lonely, you know.”_

Lonely. Despite his instincts, Hinata cleaves to the word. Lonely.

Another voice rings in his head—Tsumiki’s, right after she’d revealed the side of her that revelled in despair, that had laughed without pain or remorse.

_“Is it because you don’t have anyone to love? Is it because you’re also someone who isn’t accepted by anyone? …What a pity. I feel sorry for you.”_

Had those words precipitated that fateful jump, the drowning in a ruthless, loveless despair?

Hinata doesn’t know, but if Nanami took what she was proposing seriously, he’d be finding out, sooner or later. He turns to glance at Komaeda’s sleeping face, peaceful and still.

Hinata must be imagining it, but for a moment he sees more than just calm, etched into Komaeda’s silent features.

It’s got to be a trick of the moonlight, he tells himself, but for a moment, he sees, clear as day—a simple, heart-rending _yearning._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right. Since I've fixed the plot hole, everything from now on is just one gigantic update, courtesy of truthfullies who made me do it. I'm blaming you son.

“Komaeda-kun?”

_He’d crawled across the floor, gasping and struggling, then locked the door, and collapsed onto the bed. She’s not in the room anymore; she’s gone: gone, she can’t get him now. Her blonde wild mane; her shrieking hyena’s laugh; her dead white hand—that hand that he now calls his own._

_But she still lingers, her sickly perfume dancing about his fingertips like a corpse-stench._

_He must get rid of that hand. But how? It is cursed and will not leave him, no matter how hard he tries. Perhaps some part of him might still want it. That would prove the unthinkable._

“… Komaeda-kun?”  

Why does he hate himself so?

How many nights had he spent hunched there in the dark, the nails of his right hand gouging into his left?

“Um… it’s me, Nanami.”

_Nana… mi?_

_The sudden, flaring warmth of her shoulder as he’d leaned against it, the dull flare of the bullet’s impact still radiating from the point over his heart._

_Like a lighthouse, she’d guided him all the way to safety._

“I just… wanted to talk to you for a bit; is that okay? You don’t have to open the window if you don’t want to.”

Slowly he opens his eyes, musters the strength to sit up. The air is stale but cool on his skin. The room is dark.

_Where—?_

“Komaeda-kun?”

Her voice plaits a shivering sensitivity down his spine. He knows it; had heard it blundering along walls, fingertips scraped raw, half-blind with hurt while he had been forced to watch.

_… But when had that been?_

He presses his fingers to his temples, trying to remember, but is rewarded only with the dull, monotonous throb of his confusion, so he stands, wobbles to the window, grips the sill hard. Nanami Chiaki gives him a little wave.

“Komaeda-kun, are you okay?”

He doesn't answer, just stares blankly at her, trying to remember.

“I see… you must be feeling pretty awful, then.”

Awful. He finds himself staring down at his left wrist for a reason he can't recall.

It's a mutilated, ugly thing; the skin is an uneven mass of wounds, and newer red lines score in every direction over old, ochre scars.

“Komaeda-kun… Why did you lock yourself in there? You've made Hinata-kun worry so much.”

Worry. Hinata-kun, worried… about someone like him? But why? What had he done this time? The word ignites a little blip of emotion inside him, but he still feels like he’s floating outside of himself, barely tethered to his own body by a marionette’s strings.

“If there’s anything bothering you, anything at all, I’ll listen. _We’ll_ listen. Please don’t do anything brash, Komaeda-kun. Please.”

Nanami bites her lip, and the shadows gather more densely at her brow.

“None of this was supposed to happen, Komaeda-kun. We were supposed to be happy. We were supposed to be healing.”

Healing. The word draws his gaze back to his wrist.

Nanami must notice it too. “Will you open the door, Komaeda-kun? Please?”

He presses his fingertips to the window, right where her cheek would be if not for the glass separating them. She pulls back a little, slides her thumb tenderly over his left wrist is, on her side of the glass.

“Is she… gone?” he croaks, voice barely audible even to himself.

“She… Who are you talking about, Komaeda-kun?”

Who _is_ he talking about? He stops, confused, stares back down at his wrist; runs his thumb over it. _She_ had something to with those scars, he’s sure.

_But what?_

Nanami catches the movement, and her eyes widen, the moonlight swirling in dizzying eddies within them. “Komaeda… -kun… That's—”

He must know. “ _Is she_ _gone_?” His voice breaks on the last word, turning his sentence into a cracked plea. In the silent aftermath of his outburst he shakes, alone and afraid.

The light in Nanami’s eyes vanishes, replaced by a hard, bitter certainty.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispers fiercely, clutching his gaze to hers, “She’s _gone_.”

That’s all he needs to know. “Good.”

Slowly, he hobbles away from the window towards the door.

 

* * *

 

Komaeda fingers the silver chain around his neck, its links an endlessly comforting loop beneath his fingertips.

“There was… There was a storm, coming in from the sea, and I didn't want the pills to get wet, so I took a shortcut—you know, through the middle of the island, where the old mine is.”

“And then what happened?” Her hand goes to cover the back of his, encouraging, comforting.

He laughs, but more in wondering disbelief than in bitterness. “You know how I'm unlucky… a ledge gave way beneath my feet.”

Nanami clutches his hand, eyes wide. “A pitfall!”

He nods.

“My hood caught onto a rock, and that kept me from going into the shaft. But I lost my grip on the front of my jacket, and all the boxes except the one I had in my pocket fell in.”

She sucks in a breath, a small tremor running along her shoulders. “I see. What then?”

“I struggled a lot, I guess. I think at that point I wouldn't have minded falling into the shaft, myself.” He sighs. “But again I was unlucky. I missed the shaft, and fell into that chute they use to transport rocks instead.”

Nanami clasps her hands together. Come on, Komaeda-kun,” she chastises softly, “That's some _amazing_ luck.”

He allows himself a small smile in her direction. “The chute opened up near the entrance to the resort. By then it had already started raining, so I headed for the hotel restaurant. The pills I had left wouldn't be enough to kill me, so I thought… I thought the pool might finish me off.”

“But then Hinata-kun saved you. Wasn't that lucky?”

Komaeda shakes his head fervently. “ _That_ wasn't luck, Nanami-san. It was _Hope_.”

“Hope?”

“Everything else that happened was by chance, but what Hinata-kun was Hope. He could have just left me there… but he chose to save me! That's Hope, Nanami-san!”

Nanami ponders this for a while, head resting on her palm. “Mmm… Well, he does care about you, you know… Maybe you could put it that way, I guess?”

It's good that she understands. Komaeda smiles to himself, contented, and leans his head against the bedpost. “You know, Nanami-san…”

“What is it, Komaeda-kun?”

“… I have a strange feeling that I knew you,” he mutters absent-mindedly, fingers going up to play with his chain again.

Beside him, Nanami smiles in quiet amusement. “What are you talking about, Komaeda-kun? Of course you know me.”

“No,”  Komaeda insists, “I _knew_ you… It was before all this, before…”

_… But when had that been?_

His eyes slowly drift shut.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s Komaeda who wakes Hinata, as he had done when they’d first come to the island, with gentle pressure on his shoulder and a soft call in his ear, like the drooping coo of a dove.

“Hinata-kun. It’s morning.”

Groggy, Hinata sits up and rubs his eyes. He must have slept through the announcement, he realises—it’s already fully bright out, and the chatter of birds filters distinctly through his window.

“Hinata-kun, you look very serious even when you’re sleeping,” Komaeda comments, offhand. “Perhaps your mind is working hard, even in your dreams… Ah, maybe you’re Super High School Level Thinker!”

_This guy… He was watching me while I was asleep? For how long?_

A shiver takes hold of his spine, but it’s not a wholly unpleasant one.

“What time is it?” Hinata asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. He’s made intensely aware of the fact that his shirt is a tad short, and his stomach becomes exposed with the movement.

“Seven-thirty,” Komaeda replies smoothly, as if he’d prepared the answer long beforehand.

“Ahh… thanks.” Hinata’s gaze falls on the bedside table, where he’d left the anti-nausea pills the previous night, and he scoops the bottle up, offers it to Komaeda.

“Why don’t you take some of these? You might feel better that way.”

Komaeda blinks owlishly at the bottle for a moment, and then his face splits into a smile.

“How nice of you, Hinata-kun! Going out of your way to offer medicine to trash like me—you truly are benevolent!”

Hinata sighs, unscrews the lid, and shakes two of the tablets into the palm of his hand. “Here—shut up and eat them.”

Komaeda’s fingertips are cool with amusement on his skin as he takes the proffered pills, pops them into his mouth, and grabs Hinata’s bottle from the bedside table as well, taking a long swig. Hinata’s gaze is riveted to the smooth contractions of his creamy throat as he tips his head back and swallows, the sound audible even over the birdsong.

Unfortunately for him, Komaeda catches him staring.

“Want some water, Hinata-kun?” he asks, holding out the bottle to Hinata with an innocent, yet somehow wildly suggestive smile, and Hinata doesn’t believe for a moment that Komaeda’s unaware of the implications of this offering.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he grumbles through gritted teeth, and storms past Komaeda into the bathroom, the sickle-sharp edge of Komaeda’s casual smile digging into the back of his neck.

 

* * *

 

Nanami makes good on her promise. As soon as they’re done with breakfast, she sits them down at a balcony table overlooking the swishing sea, and clasps her hands together as she looks round at the both of them.

“So, where should we go today?”

Hinata can’t quite see where she’s going with this yet, so he turns slightly to glance at Komaeda instead, searching for an opinion with his gaze.

“Anywhere is fine.” Komaeda smiles evenly, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. As he sets the cup back down onto its patterned saucer, the rich aroma hits Hinata—the coffee is a potent brew, black, strong and undoubtedly bitter. “I'll go wherever Hinata-kun and Nanami-san want to.”

“I don't mind anything,” Hinata says. “It's up to you, Nanami.”

Nanami takes them to the movie theatre, that small, dingy little popcorn-smelling place where Komaeda had insisted on Hinata keeping his movie stub, so that he could prove his innocence right at the beginning of the Trial.

Well, despite what had happened, Hinata still had to give that one up to him. He was certainly one of the reasons why Hinata was still alive right now, and a little bud of gratitude worms its way into Hinata’s chest.

“Any ideas on what to watch?” Nanami asks once they’re through the doors, turning inquisitively to the both of them.

Hinata groans inwardly.

_You mean you dragged us here without a movie in mind?_

Komaeda replies with a chuckle, and an “I’d rather film movies than watch them,” and Hinata doesn’t really prefer any of the films over the others anyway, so in the end, it’s Nanami who gets three tickets to some sappy romance film.

Well, Hinata’s not complaining, as long as Nanami’s happy with it, and he gets to sit next to her, her hand finding its way into his.

It is a little embarrassing, though, knowing that Komaeda is sitting right on his other side in the dark, silent, and yet very much present.

Hinata’s not too sure whether he’s watching the movie or not, but a couple times, when he reaches into the popcorn box for another handful, he brushes up against Komaeda’s slender, smooth fingers.

When he glances up to meet Komaeda’s face, he sees wide-open, fawnlike eyes staring straight back at him, as if Komaeda has been watching _him_ instead of the screen all this while.

Hinata decides to turn his attention back to the movie. 

The flick is tolerable, the plot standard; the director has some fetish for long shots with the couple’s silhouettes holding hands on the beach. Hinata does his best to enjoy it.

After a full one-and-a-half hour of sitting on his butt and stuffing himself with popcorn, Hinata finds himself outside the movie theatre again, blinking stupidly in daylight.

Nanami had fallen asleep on his shoulder during the movie, which made him wonder whether or not she had really wanted to watch it in the first place (not that he was complaining).

“Where shall we go next?” Nanami asks, clearly not satisfied with one measly movie. She leans forward and stares pointedly up at Komaeda, eyes wide.

He blinks, confused for a moment, and then catches onto her intentions.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, palms up in front of himself, “I get it. My turn to decide, right? Looks like there’s no getting out of this one, then.”

He frowns, thinking hard.

“Somewhere where we would be least likely to run into something unfortunate… how about the library?”

“I don’t see a problem,” Hinata says, and so off to the library they go.

The library’s air-conditioned, vast hall is a relief, to say the least, and as they enter Komaeda turns to him, a challenge curving about his lips, and asks, “So, Hinata-kun… What do you think we should do?”

“Um.” Hinata says, intelligently. Komaeda had decided on coming here, so why was Hinata being forced to make this decision? But Nanami’s gazing at him expectantly too, and there's no way he can say nothing, so he rummages around in his mind, and comes up with a feeble “How about… _uh_ , studying?” He realises how stupid it sounds only after the words have left his lips.

Much to his surprise, though, Komaeda laughs, a gentle thing that reminds Hinata of a spring breeze rustling tall, sweet-smelling grass.

“How studious of you, Hinata-kun! We’re trapped on this tropical island, and the first thing you think of is to study? Maybe you're Super High School Level Valedictorian— _I’d_ never imagine coming all the way here to _study_! I see—Talented people really _are_ extraordinary!” He breaks off in amusement.

Hinata turns to Nanami, pleading with his stare, but she only frowns. “Wait, Hinata-kun… people study in libraries?”

_Hey, Nanami… You’ve got to be kidding me…_

“Well,” Komaeda chuckles, having finally recovered from his bout of mirth, “If you're really that serious about studying, Hinata-kun, I wouldn't mind joining you, I guess. How about you, Nanami-san?”

“Hmm… I've never actually sat down and studied with anyone before, but I suppose it could be fun! Oh—but I might fall asleep…” She tugs at Hinata’s sleeve. “Hinata-kun, if you see me dozing off, you can wake me up anytime!”

Something in Hinata’s heart stirs at how adorable that is.

_She's being so serious about this… I guess studying isn't such a bad idea, after all._

Fifteen minutes later, they're all sitting at one of the many tables in the centre of the hall, where the sun brushes its hazy yellow beams across the rich wood. Nanami, sitting to Hinata’s left, has a Minecraft guidebook open in front of her, but her head has predictably drooped, her cheek pressed against a glossy page, and the sunlight turns her lashes translucent as she sleeps, her shoulders rising and falling gently.

_Ah… just as I suspected._

Studying probably wasn’t Nanami’s thing, after all. Hinata glances across the table at Komaeda, who’s intensely absorbed in his own book, some sort of thick, leather-bound antique with crinkly yellowed pages and old-fashioned, fading print. His brow is slightly crinkled as he pores over the page he's on, his finger slipping across the lines on the page as he murmurs to himself, a soft hum in the vast silence of the hall; the words barely distinguishable from each other.

Sunlight scribbles a hasty silhouette of him onto the table’s wooden surface, casting his page in shadow, but he doesn’t seem to mind—or notice, at that. When he blinks, intermittently, Hinata can make out the silk flutter of his lashes—he marvels at just how long they are, and forgets that he’s supposed to be reading, himself.

Komaeda had appeared to be absorbed in his book, but he must have noticed Hinata staring for longer than was necessary, because he glances up from his book, about to turn the page. He’s pinching the thin leaf of paper delicately between thumb and forefinger, the slight pressure on his fingertips turning the edge of his thumb white, and it’s all Hinata can do to tear his gaze away, bring it back up to Komaeda’s eyes, and he almost misses what Komaeda’s saying.

“—’s the matter, Hinata-kun?”  

“Uh… what’s that?” Hinata asks— _very intelligently—_ gesturing to the book, and crossing his fingers under the table.

Thank God—Komaeda doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Hinata-kun’s taking interest in the hobbies of trash like me? How unexpected!”

Hinata sighs. “Like I said, don’t call yourself—”

Komaeda flips the book closed, cutting him off, and pushes it across the table to show him the cover. His fingers are very long and very pale against the dark leather, Hinata notices, and then he pulls himself together, and remembers to read the title.

 _Human Miracles Through The Ages_ , the tome proclaims in bold, embossed letters.

“It’s a book about miracles,” Komaeda explains.

_Yeah, as if I couldn’t tell from the title._

“It’s about ordinary people who survive seemingly hopeless situations, when all the odds seem stacked against them,” Komaeda continues, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair while Hinata opens the book and scans a page or two.

The stories are pretty varied as far as stories about overcoming the odds go—people in all sorts of desperate situations, doing desperate things to survive. Hinata’s eye roves over one involving shipwrecked sailors and cannibalism, and he shudders, despite himself.

“Aren’t they pretty lucky to have gotten out of it, then?” he wonders aloud, pondering the significance of this knowledge.

Komaeda shakes his head mutely.

“It’s not luck they have, Hinata-kun. It’s _Hope._ ” There it was, that elusive, mysterious phrase. Much like a unicorn or a phoenix it had crept insidiously into everything Komaeda talked about, and here it had resurfaced. _Hope._

“Hope?”

“That’s right.” It’s as if some hidden backup power generator has been activated deep inside Komaeda—his eyes gain a new light, and he sits up straighter, turning fully to Hinata.

“If it was me, and I’d gotten out of all those hopeless situations, it would definitely be because of my good luck, but since these people don’t have the luck I do, it must be because they’re Hope, in some way or another!”

“I… see.”

_What weird logic._

“That’s why I get all excited just reading about them,” Komaeda pants, and it is true—a faint sheen of sweat has started up at his hairline, and he clutches himself tightly, as if to keep himself from falling apart.

Watching him shiver, eyes alight with dizzy arousal, Hinata swallows heavily, trying to force away the uncomfortable heat settling in his stomach.

Right. Time to change the subject. “Hey, Komaeda.” Hinata clears his throat. “What’s, _um_ , hope to you?”

“Hope?” Komaeda says the word like it’s the name of a god. “Hope is… absolute good, Hinata-kun. To have Hope is to wield the power to defeat all evil, and to rise triumphant above it all! That’s why Hope is the greatest thing in the world, and that’s why I’d do anything for Hope—even offer up my worthless life!”

 _It doesn’t seem like he’s joking,_ Hinata muses to himself. Well, if anything, he now knows a little bit more about Komaeda, though perhaps, with this new and strange information, he feels as if he’s actually gained more questions than answers.

“Say, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, cleaving him from his thoughts, “What’s your book about, then?” There’s a rush of air as he leaves his seat, strides to the other side of the table, and leans close, peering over Hinata’s shoulder.

The warm scent of coffee lingers about him, Hinata realises; Komaeda’s wild, fluffy hair tickles his cheekbone, and his shoulder is pressed gently against Hinata’s spine. He might even go so far as to call the sensation… comfortable.

“Hmmm, let’s see,” Komaeda muses, running his index finger down the page as he reads. “It’s… a guidebook, Hinata-kun?”

“Yeah,” Hinata sighs. “I just happened to find this, and, well, since we’re stuck here anyway… might as well figure out what this place is all about, I guess.”

Komaeda claps his hands together in delight. “As expected of a symbol of Hope! Your Hope really does burn strong, Hinata-kun. I’ll read with you, then!”

He grabs the chair on Hinata’s other side, and plops himself down on the seat in a rush of sunlit dust-motes.

In the end, it’s Komaeda who scours each page for any useful information, and Hinata resigns himself to watching Komaeda read, concentration in the furrow of his brow, while he finds himself half-slipping into his thoughts like a cormorant into water.

Could Komaeda really respect and love that kind of cruel survival story? Could he really tout it as hope? The way Hinata saw it, those sailors were probably more desperate than hopeful, more engaged in ruthless self-preservation than looking to defeat the evils of… what? Death by starvation?

He really can’t see how a story like that matches up with another story he’d seen just down the page about a mother lifting an entire car just to save her child, trapped underneath.

Something else hits him.

_Maybe they’re both hope. But one’s selfish hope, and one’s selfless hope._

Selfish and selfless hope. Was there even such a distinction? Wasn’t hope just… plain old hope?

But looking at the stories in the book and Komaeda’s casting of his wide net of hope, it just strikes Hinata as plain _wrong_ that all these instances could be one and the same.

 

* * *

 

“Hinata-kun, I loathe hope,” Komaeda had croaked, hair set ablaze by the weary late-afternoon light, the collar of his blue patient’s tunic wide open to reveal a swathe of white skin, made even more shocking by the stark contrast to the fabric.

Sweat; yes, Hinata remembers sweat; there had been glistening pearls of it gathering in the lines that cut shallowly between ridges of muscle, slipping out of sight into the crux of the deep V in the tunic. His palms had clung to Hinata’s forearm even as he’d hurled abuse at Hinata; rubbery, clammy; searing into his skin.

“I hate it… and I hate you. I don’t ever…” He’d choked on the tortuous serpent of words forcing its way up his throat. “… want to see, your face again… so get out; get out!”

His fingernails had dug trenches into Hinata’s skin; his tongue slipping against his mind in arduous combat while his eyes pleaded for salvation.

Hinata had turned tail and fled.

“I don’t really think he likes me around,” he’d laughed sheepishly to Tsumiki, and torn his grip away from Komaeda, each step away becoming exponentially arduous, as if he was straining against a rope that connected him to Komaeda, Komaeda who had flailed against Tsumiki’s concerned restraint and screamed, “Go away! _Go away!_ ” at Hinata’s fading silhouette.

The animatronic Monokuma cutouts in the hallway had mocked him with their repetition as he ran; mocked him as he fell back into the old round of discomfort, of his antithetic, magnetic repulsion.

 

* * *

 

“Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s hand squeezes his shoulder lightly, and he blinks, coming back into his body like a double image sharpening into focus. “It’s getting late.”

It certainly is - Komaeda’s just about finished the guidebook, and through the large glass windows the sun is starting to fade, its rays turning a slow, lethargic orange.

“Yeah,” Hinata grunts, stretches. “We’d better get back, then. Did you find anything?”

“I did,” Komaeda hums. “Apparently the islands are man-made. Would you believe that?”

“They’re… man-made?” From this angle, Hinata’s borrowed shirt hangs away from Komaeda’s thin chest, and Hinata gets a skin-tingling view of his skin, stretching down into the darkness.

“Yep. I’ll tell you and Nanami-san more at dinner.”

“Right… Nanami, wake up.” He pokes her in the shoulder gently, and she stirs, lifts her head like a snake-charmer’s mesmerized charge. “What… where are we, Hinata-kun?”

“The library,” Hinata reminds her. “You fell asleep.”

She puts a hand over the wide O of her mouth. “Oh, no. Just when I thought I could finally study with someone else, too…”

“Don’t worry about it, Nanami-san.” It’s Komaeda who reassures her. “Hinata-kun and I found something interesting about the island, so it wasn’t all bad, coming here!”

“I didn’t do much,” Hinata admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Really, it was Komaeda that did most of the work.”

“Ah, but Hinata-kun was the one to find the book,” Komaeda counters smoothly like a wave sweeping over sand. Hinata’s really gotta hand it to this guy.

_What a smooth talker._

The walk back is made in a sort of comforting silence, and just as they’re about to reach the hotel, Komaeda stops Hinata with a touch to his shoulder, so gentle he almost doesn’t feel it.

“Hinata-kun?”

“Yeah?” he asks. Wordlessly, Komaeda falls into step beside him, one clenched fist raised. For a moment, Hinata has the most ludicrous impression that Komaeda’s going to punch him, but instead, he takes Hinata’s right hand into his left, and drops something small and hard into his palm. It’s a Hope Shard.

_Oh._

“Thanks for today,” Komaeda tells him, his hand cool against Hinata’s warm one, and when he retracts his hand Hinata feels a fleeting, inexplicable loss. He’s still wondering at it when he remembers his own Hope Shard, and starts, fumbling in his pocket.

“Crap, sorry, I forgot. Here, take this.”

The garishly pink, rabbit-themed drawstring pouch is a bother, but it does the job, and he withdraws a small crystal fragment from it, and deposits it into Komaeda’s outstretched hand. His palm is so pale, Hinata can see the web of bluish veins running just under his skin. Komaeda takes up the fragment with the fingers of his other hand and looks at it, wonderingly.

“Oh, yours are a different colour from Nanami-san’s.”

“You mean… you didn’t know?” Everyone’s were a different colour, for ease of distinction. And anyway, Nanami had given him a Hope Shard? That was news.

“Yeah.” Komaeda points to his long, pale neck, where, at his collarbone, a chain glints, red and silver in the dying sun. Hinata doesn’t even have to look to know, heart sinking like a stone, what’s on it. Six delicately pink shards, the colour of rose quartz shot through with dusky grey.

“All of them?” he mumbles, trying his best not to sound overly dejected, but he fails miserably all the same.

Komaeda nods. “She said that if I was going to learn how to love, I needed some love of my own, and so she gave me these. I feel as though… I don’t deserve them, though.”

A pained smile flits across his lips, and it’s the only thing keeping Hinata from a bitter “Yeah, you sure as hell don’t.”

He’d worked so hard to collect all those shards from Nanami, and he’d gotten them from one simple, clandestine talk in his cottage? It sounded ridiculous, but Hinata felt almost as if he was being slowly, but surely, displaced.

“Let me guess—you gave her all of yours too, right?” He’s being stupid and bitter, he knows—it’s not as if Hope Shards are an accurate measurement of affection—but all the same, it feels like a betrayal.

Komaeda shakes his head.

“Yours is the first,” he murmurs, so softly that Hinata has to get him to say it again, and then when he does, Hinata’s face goes a shade of pink, too.

“Oh.”

“She told me that my Shards were mine to give—she didn’t require anything back from me or something like that. And I wanted to give my first Shard to you, Hinata-kun, who saved this worthless life twice!”

Hinata’s heart is still pounding with shock, and it’s all he can to do stutter the words “Th—thanks. I really… uh, appreciate it.”

If Komaeda had any decent social skills he might have noticed Hinata’s awkwardness, but instead he smiles, delighted.

“That’s great, Hinata-kun! It’s not much, coming from a piece of trash like me, but please consider this a sign of gratitude for saving me twice. In fact… You can take all my Shards now if you like!”

“Wait, wait wait,” Hinata hastily stops him before he can do anything stupid. “Let’s take this slow, okay?”

“If that's what Hinata-kun wants,” Komaeda says softly, irises silvered as he gazes tenderly at Hinata, and Hinata feels something in his heart spreading its wings and taking flight into the evening sun.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is a pleasant affair, and gratitude hangs on Komaeda’s lips and won’t come off, if only because Owari demonstrated her “amazingly Hopeful!” sporting skills, and dived into the water to retrieve Komaeda’s keys for him.

It’s a breath of fresh air for Hinata, because Komaeda will finally be able to go back to his own cottage, and he’ll have Nanami alone in the lobby, gaming like in times of old.

“So,” Nanami asks him as she brutally kicks his character off the edge of the floating platform, “How did you find today?”

“Not bad, I guess,” Hinata replies as he jams on his controls for a power-up; he gets it, and his newly respawned character bears down on Nanami’s, forcing it slowly but surely to the brink. “I guess… like you said, he’s not really a bad person, when it boils down to it. Even though he’s a little weird.”

“He’s just confused,” Nanami tells him. “And in need of love, I guess. Everyone needs some love to function.”

“Hmph,” mutters Hinata non-committally, which results in his character taking a bashing from Nanami’s special attack while he’s lost in his thoughts. “Oi, that’s unfair!”

“Life is unfair.” Nanami says, matter-of-factly, and Hinata pokes her in the side in retaliation.

“Hinata-kun… that tickles!”

But her eyes have lit up, and she’s worming her fingers into his side, trying to get him back.

The game controllers lie forgotten on the sofa, their newly respawned characters bouncing on the balls of their feet at either end of the platform in an eternal, expectant stalemate.


	9. Chapter 9

Day Seven of the Komaeda Nagito Humanisation Project is underway, and this time, Nanami gives him the opportunity to choose, so he picks the beach—not so much for himself, but he has the distinct feeling that Komaeda will like it.

After all, they’d first met on the beach, him waking up to warm sunlight and a quiet smile that dazzled just as brightly.

“The beach,” Komaeda exclaims incredulously, when Hinata’s put forth his suggestion. “You read my mind, Hinata-kun! Maybe you’re secretly the Super High School Level Telepath!”

“Come on,” Hinata grumbles, while Nanami giggles, “That’s impossible! Besides, if I could really read minds, I’d want to know exactly what’s going on in that peculiar brain of yours.”

Komaeda quietens, though his lips still show a faint amusement. “Me, too,” he sighs softly, and clasps his hands together under the table.

The beach is deserted, which is great for them, and at Komaeda’s suggestion, he and Hinata build a sandcastle at the fringes of the waves while Nanami, not too much a fan of the sun, sits under a beach umbrella and hums while she takes down the latest boss level on her handheld.

In a little while she’s asleep, as usual, and Hinata’s so distracted by the length of her skirt when she’s lying on her back like that that he gets splashed full in the face by a wave, which leaves him spluttering and half-blind. Komaeda actually laughs at that, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up.

Hinata can’t let that one go without a fight, so he dips his cupped palms into the water, intending to splash Komaeda back with seawater.

Just then, an even bigger wave roars up onto the shore, and knocks him off his feet before he can do anything. He tumbles, salt in his mouth and nose, and ends up flat on the wet sand, disorientated.

When he gets to his knees, spitting sand out of his mouth, he finds Komaeda musing forlornly at the spot where their creation had once stood.

The wave has wreaked destruction on the poor castle, and now it’s been reduced to a misshapen lump of wet sand, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the beach at a distance.

“Ah, how lucky of me…” Komaeda murmurs, staring vacantly at the castle’s sad remains. “But yet, how unfortunate.”

“What’s that? Hinata asks, hands on his hips as he traipses over to survey the damage.

“It’s my luck,” Komaeda tells him, turning towards him with a serious expression in his eyes. “I got lucky because I wasn’t splashed by you, but in return, this sandcastle that we spent all that time building got washed away…”

He looks away, utterly deflated. “I’m so sorry, Hinata-kun. My Talent only brings others misfortune…”

“Don’t say that,” Hinata sighs heavily, wiping his sandy palms on his swim trunks. “Yeah, it’s all too bad that it got destroyed. But it’s a sand castle. Those things are like snowmen—kinda impermanent, but fun to make all the same. And you know why?” he asks, without really knowing the answer, but the words just spill from his mouth—he can’t stop once he’s started.

“It’s because… it’s the process that counts. I had a fun time building it, and I’m sure you did, too. As long as we have these memories, then no matter what happens, we can still be happy that these things came to pass, right? Maybe misfortune will strike sometimes, but not even that can take away your experiences of good things. As long as that remains, we can always look forward to a better future, right? We can always—”

He’s working on a hunch here, but if he strikes a chord, what he’s saying should get through Komaeda’s thick skull. “—We can always… hope, right?”

At the word _Hope_ , just as Hinata had expected, Komaeda’s eyes light up again.

“You’re right, Hinata-kun. I never thought of it this way before, but… Hope! Surely that’s something to live by. I’ll remember this sandcastle, Hinata-kun, and the fun time I spent with you.”

For the rest of the morning, they relegate themselves to sitting side by side under a swaying palm, watching the waves roll in and consume the rest of their decaying sandcastle. Komaeda’s hand is tight and hot in his.

After lunch, it falls to Nanami once again to decide where they’re headed to; she chooses the newly-opened amusement park.

It’s large and spanking new, and Hinata seriously can’t believe that a park this big was built on this island, just for the purposes of this killing game.

Well, it seems so far behind him now, all the death and suspicion and regret and suffering, and for today he just wants to have some fun with his two friends. Komaeda had passed him another Hope Shard earlier at lunch, telling Hinata that “What you said… it’s given me another new dimension of Hope to explore. Maybe you’re the Super High School Level Counselor!”

 _No way,_ Hinata had thought as he’d spooned a mouthful of salad off his plate. _It sounds pretty good compared to Super High School Level Stupid, but it’d be too stressful a Talent… Was I really made to sit and talk people out of their troubles from day to day?_

The one ride at the amusement park that had really caught his eye—that was generally the most eye-catching, really—was the roller coaster. Towering several stories above them, it went through several loops and a wicked drop before cruising smoothly into the station.

Hinata couldn’t wait to try it, though the tracks and carriages were coated a garish pink that reminded him of cough medicine.

Still, Komaeda had veered vehemently away from the coaster’s entrance, and stopped instead at the entrance to the carousel.

It was rather a large carousel, as carousels went, gaudily painted (pink again) with various animals impaled on twisty golden poles. As far as Hinata was concerned, this was basically a ride for kids, or weenies who didn’t have enough balls for the coaster. It just went round and round and round for ten minutes or so. What was the fun to be gleaned from a ride like that?

In the end, it was Komaeda’s choice, and so while Nanami got _her_ fun on the coaster, Hinata was forced—well, _persuaded_ to join Komaeda on his kiddy ride.

Komaeda had picked a white steed, tall and majestic with a glimmer in its painted eye, and Hinata, not wanting to give it much thought, had picked some random lion, which sat a few paces behind the horse in a perpetual giddy chase.

Its mane, long, flowing and majestic, had been marred by a tuft of fur that stood straight up… in fact, didn’t it bear an uncanny resemblance to Hinata’s own hair? Forget it—he’d rather not think about that.

More likely, the tuft of wayward fur was a poorly designed handhold for its rider, crafted by a maker who thought they were possibly being clever.

Well, there was nothing to it but to climb and ride.

With a burst of tinny fairground music, the ride begins to jolt into motion, the animals going up and down their respective poles like some kind of morbidly orchestrated torture session.

Hinata glances ahead, and notices Komaeda, sitting straight up on his horse. He’s completely still, his arms flung outwards, and the light breeze created by the motion of the ride stirs up his hair, sweeping it back and away from his face. His eyes are closed, and he seems to delight in the carousel’s simple, circular motion—a motion with no ending or beginning, just a forward movement in the same, old round.

_And we’re back where we started, huh._

Hinata has the sudden urge to see the full expression on his face—as it is, from where he’s sitting, he can barely make out Komaeda’s features; they shift in and out of sight as the ride goes around and around and around. He’s got to do something, or he’ll be stuck in this limbo forever—chasing incessantly, but never to catch up.

Swallowing, he makes his move.

When the lion next descends down its gilded pole, he swings his legs off, and hops to the metal floor beneath him, the plank groaning slightly under his weight.

Picking his way through the chorus of animals, he reaches Komaeda’s side, but doesn’t do anything to arouse his attention: he simply stands and stares at Komaeda’s wildly free, peaceful manner.

In his raw, unmastered delight, he makes even the coaster look tame.

Hinata hasn’t even realised that he’s been standing there with what amounts to a dumb look on his face, with his jaw hanging open and his expression vacant, when the ride slows to a smooth halt. Komaeda opens his eyes, and comes face to face with Hinata’s stupid gape.

“Hinata… -kun?”

Great. As if their first awkward meeting hadn’t been enough, he’d just have to go and embarrass himself with some sort of inexplicable situation again.

“I wasn’t—I mean, I just wanted to see—”

“It’s all right, Hinata-kun!” This time it’s Komaeda who cuts him off with a giddy laugh, which makes Hinata want to laugh too, and it’s Komaeda’s hand which finds his, and slips the Shard into his palm like a promise.

As they part by their respective cottages, Hinata gives Komaeda his second Shard for the day. Komaeda stares at it wonderingly.

“It’s pretty,” he murmurs to himself, fingering the three other shards that are hanging, along with Nanami’s, from his silver chain.

Very soon that crystal will be complete, and Hinata will have no business with Komaeda, according to his and Nanami’s little contract.

All the same, he finds himself wishing that there were more shards to make up that whole.

As Komaeda enters his cottage, he looks like he’s about to say something more, but holds his tongue at the last second.

“Good-night, Hinata-kun,” he exclaims, and Hinata understands; there are many more words he can’t say, hidden in the affectionate tone, the yearning inflection.

“Good-night,” Hinata replies simply, and turns away so Komaeda can’t see his hands shaking.

 

* * *

 

“Nanami,” Hinata mutters against her skin through a trail of open-mouthed kisses, “Nanami, do you think what I’m doing is wrong?”

She presses her lips to the top of his head, clasps his hand tight and holds it to her chest.

“Not in the slightest—in fact, I think you may be doing him more good than you intended.”

“Maybe.” He’s distracted by the softness of her body.

“Say, Hinata-kun. What did you do with that underwear I gave you?”

“ _What?_ ” It takes him an immense effort to still the fluttering of his fingers. “Well, I—I see it, and I think of you, and—”

“You’re not answering the question, Hinata-kun. What do you do with it?” Hinata notes the sly, subtle change from _did_ to _do_ , and knows he’s beat.

“Not _all_ that often,” he protests. “Anyway, I’d like to know what _you_ do with _my_ underwear.”

He’s been to her cottage a number of times, and he’s never seen it since he gave it to her.

“I burnt it,” she whispers playfully against his skin, humming softly as he strokes the stretch of skin between her waist and hip.

“You _wouldn’t._ ” He makes his tone deliberately aghast, but fails to conceal his smile.

“Try me.”

Her grin is cutting, and he allows himself to stare deep into her eyes, and fall head over heels in love once again.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s Komaeda’s turn to decide where to go again. He’d happened (well, with Komaeda, few things rarely just _happened_ ) to walk out of his cottage right when Hinata and Nanami had exited hers, and they’d exchanged their fair share of awkward stares and mumbled _good morning_ s, but despite himself, Hinata had felt a sort of outrageous injustice. So what, now it was his fault that he and Nanami were in love?

Well, it wasn’t like he hated Komaeda—quite the opposite; they were becoming fast companions—but still, something in Komaeda’s gaze had spoken volumes of envy, and perhaps a shade of resentment, and Hinata had to consciously remind himself that he had every right to Nanami, that whatever guilt he might have felt towards Komaeda was just an added bonus for him.

Nothing could come between Nanami and him. Nothing should.

That’s why Hinata gets the shock of his life when Komaeda points straight at the coaster, and declares, in soft but firm tones, that he will _ride it,_ come hell or high water.

 _Is he trying to impress Nanami?_ Hinata conjectures wildly, and then, catching sight of Nanami’s smiling face, _probably._

It’s a step forward with Komaeda, though, and Hinata does get what he wants, sitting next to Nanami (she had slid into the seat beside him and squeezed his hand firmly—as if he needed comforting for what had happened earlier!) while Komaeda sits one row in front of them, clenching the bar so hard his knuckles turn whiter than usual (if that was possible, even).

Just before the coaster takes off he seems to develop some kind of crushing doubt, because he turns back round to face them, eyes wide with fear and nervousness and mouth opening to say something—but it’s too late—they’re off, rolling slowly up the incline.

“A—are you sure this is a good idea, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda stammers, teeth chattering with every click of the gears that pull the carriages upwards.

“Why are you asking me?” Hinata grumbles back. “You’re the one who—”

And then they roll over the edge, and Nanami shrieks so loudly in his ears with delirious laughter that Hinata can’t hear or think of anything else, weightless in that interminable pocket of time—then gravity takes hold, and now his neck is shrinking into his shoulders with the force. Nanami’s hand has found its way into his again, and he holds on as if it’s the only real thing in the world.

The ride ends before Hinata feels it ought to. Komaeda stumbles from the carriage, face pale and hair a messy cloud, and Nanami laughs at him till the colour comes back into his face.

“Nothing… went wrong,” is the first thing he says eyes shimmering like a heat haze, and that small, insignificant fact in itself seems to make him giddy with happiness. Just from those words though, Hinata gets a glimpse of his deep-seated fears, the constant, paranoid worry that had probably stuck like a shadow with him all his life, and that had incarcerated his bright, lyrical soul.

“Course it wouldn’t,” he says, and he tries to mean it, as best he can.

Lunch is a tropical-style buffet, cooked to near perfection, but Hinata finds himself missing Hanamura’s Michelin-star-worthy, if sometimes a little… _eccentric_ … meals. The three of them share a table and steal food off each other’s plate and laugh, and watching their delighted faces, Hinata can’t remember who it is he’d fallen in love with in the first place.

Was it only Nanami? Or had there been a dormant part in him, waiting and watching, and wanting to have loved Komaeda all along?

There are two more activities left to go till he collects Komaeda’s last Shard, and it looks like it’ll be the amusement park this time around—Monokuma has dictated that all of them are to ride the roller coaster as a class, and that he’ll have a surprise waiting for them at the end of the ride. Hinata would have liked to sit with Nanami, but amidst all the pushing and shoving he gets Sonia instead, and Nanami sits next to Souda. Hinata has the distinct impression that they would both be happier people if they switched. Komaeda is somewhere behind him, next to Owari, who whoops and screams like a chimpanzee through the whole ride.

Hinata suddenly feels very glad he’s not Komaeda.

 

* * *

 

“Togami?” There’s a general gasp that rings up from the nine people, and several pairs of eyes turn to stare at each other in blatant consternation.

“What’s he doing there?”

“Could he have been a survivor of the previous Killing Games?”

“Do you mean to say… that we aren’t the first?”

“That’s up to you to find out, you pipsqueaks!” Monokuma bellows at them. Smug piece of cotton-stuffed cloth. Hinata would find a way to rip him to pieces someday.

Amidst all the confusion and speculation, they bundle themselves into the small fairground train at Monokuma’s behest… and that’s when the gas strikes. Hinata holds on to Nanami’s hand as the world begins to go dark, praying that nothing will happen to them.

He won’t be wrong, but there’s no way anymore, at this point, that all of them will be able to avoid tragedy.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hungry… I’m so… hungry…” Souda is the one to say it, but it’s what they’d all been feeling, and no one has the balls—or really, the energy—to contradict him.

“This cannot go on for much longer!” Tanaka thunders, and just the sound of his voice makes Hinata’s head ring. He’s been forced to spend his time with them, simply because Nanami’s been nowhere to be seen ever since the start of their ordeal, and likewise, Komaeda’s barred himself inside his fancy plush room in the Strawberry House, and refused to come out.

 _Maybe he’s scared he’ll be eaten,_ Hinata thinks with a snort, and then, more plausibly, _it’s possible that he’s just too frail to go anywhere._

Tanaka’s ubiquitous hamsters scurry about on his shoulders. “Hey, Tanaka,” Hinata says, having finally found a topic of conversation to latch onto. “Don’t your hamsters need food?”

“Are you referring to the Four Dark Devas of Destruction? If so, then—”

But Hinata’s mind has drifted off elsewhere. His stomach is a major distraction for him, and his train of thought keeps derailing, slipping off the tracks of Tanaka’s incoherent ramble.

“Y’know what,” Hinata concludes, after a suitably polite interval. “Maybe I’ll go have a look around.”

There’s one thing in particular that he wants to check out—namely the set of double doors labelled **FINAL DEAD ROOM**  in large gaudy letters.

Maybe that was the way out, regardless of Monokuma’s crap about the “Ultimate Weapon” or whatever. It’d only take him five minutes, and then he’d probably be too exhausted and hungry to do much else.

Down the stairs he traipses, dragging his feet without wholly intending to, and soon he arrives, coming to a dead halt outside the Room. The twin handles beckon with their tantalising curvature, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s reaching for them, ready to pull them open—

“What on earth are you doing, Hinata-kun?”

That voice.

“Nanami!” he exclaims, dropping his grip from the handles and whirling around to face her. To his surprise, her hands are on her hips, and her eyebrows are furrowed in consternation.

“You mustn’t go in, Hinata-kun!”

“Why not?” he protests, annoyed for once. “I’m just trying to find a way out, see? It won’t hurt—there might even be food in there!”

“You can’t,” she pleads with him, grabbing his arm. “It’s what Monokuma _wants_ you to do, Hinata-kun. By opening those doors, you’ll be walking right into his trap! And what’s behind that door—” she shudders. “Please, don’t tempt yourself into murder, Hinata-kun. Not even for my sake. Promise me that.”

Well, what can he do? Faced with such demands—Hinata sighs, and takes Nanami’s hand.

“Fine,” he concedes, though he feels like he’s dropping ever further away from the shining light of a possible escape with every new breath. “Fine, I promise.”

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” she murmurs, and he notices, much to his surprise, that there are tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Strangely uncomfortable, he gives her one last hug, breathing in the scent of her skin before he heads upstairs.

There’s only one thing to do about this hunger, and that’s to sleep it off. That’ll do the trick.


	12. Chapter 12

When Komaeda Nagito opens the file, surrounded by the concrete walls of the Octagon, the resounding shockwave hits him like a punch to the chest, and he reels backwards, dropping the file with a heavy _thump_ onto the floor.

No. It couldn’t be… both his friends; all his classmates… Remnants of Despair? Traitors to Hope?

A sickening feeling rises in his gut, and he barely manages to keep the measly bit of bread he’s eaten since Nidai’s death down.

But if the file wasn’t lying, and if they were all—him included—Remnants of Despair, what could that mean? That they all had to die, for the sake of hope? That because of this, Despair had played him right into a checkmate?

How could this have happened? It must be because of the good things that he’d experienced these past few days—must be, had to be.

He can feel the old familiar shaking and sweating starting up again, sensations he never experienced when Hinata-kun’s hand was in his, or Nanami-san’s head was on his shoulder.

Komaeda can feel many things starting to click together in his head, but bitter anger washes like a wave over all of them, ruining them like the water had ruined that sandcastle on the beach. He fingers his chain with the two Hope Crystals on it—Nanami’s, completed, and Hinata’s—well, at the rate things had turned out, he’d never get that last shard.

Not that he ever wanted to, now. Accepting those false Idols of Hope from a Remnant of Despair—that would be the greatest betrayal of them all.

Something in his heart tugs at his conscience, reminds him of afternoons together spent talking, laughing; playing games, building sandcastles, lips he had wanted to but never had the chance to kiss, that he would now rather stab himself than touch—

Oh, it was all over now, wasn’t it?

An invisible hand descends upon his throat, and he shakes, shakes; shakes alone in the empty air and the stillness of the Octagon, wishing desperately that any one of those five bullets had struck him in the head.

 

* * *

 

“It’s me. I’m the traitor, Komaeda-kun.”

Komaeda had scarcely believed those words when he’d heard them, but what luck it was to him now!

“You… traitor? How?”

And then, more sorrowfully, “Why?”

They’d been sitting on Komaeda’s king-sized bed in his plush room. In times like this, Nanami-san was the only person that he trusted well enough to let into his room. He would gladly give up his body to be eaten by the others, if it really came down to that, but he wanted to stay, as best as he could, out of their way, when they were all no doubt tired and hungry, and had no desire to cast their gaze upon trash like himself.

Today had been a day like any other, and then he’d given her his final Hope Shard, which she’d hung reverently next to Hinata-kun’s on her silver chain. Now she had both of theirs, and both of them had hers.

“You know, Komaeda-kun. Since we’re really, really good friends now… There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, all this while. I just… haven’t had the courage before now.”

“Go on,” Komaeda had said, infinitely curious.

And then she had changed his world.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know what it entails,” Nanami had said after he’d stared at her in utter shock, not willing to believe what he’d just heard.

Looking down at her hand, she’d told him, “It’s just that my job is to relay the day’s events to Usami-san. That’s it, really.”

“So… You’re spying on us?”

“It’s not for a bad cause,” she had pleaded, tugging at his hand. “Please believe me when I say this, Komaeda-kun. Please. Trust me.”

Looking down at his own chain, where her Crystal had hung since the very first day she’d talked to him in Hinata-kun’s cottage, he’d relented, but it had got him thinking ever since then.

And now… what a turn of events! Nanami had revealed herself as their only hope, and so she would be the one to save.

He’s glad, deep in the bottom of his heart, that it isn’t Souda or Sonia or some other random person—for a yearning burst of a second he wishes Hinata-kun could have turned traitor too - but that’s too good to hope for.

_After all, he’s only a Reserve Course student in the end._

He’ll just have to work with what he’s given.

It was easy to access Grape House from the Octagon, and he’d gone straight to Nanami’s room. If anything, she was the one to speak to after he’d been so badly shaken up.

After all, she’d trusted him with that earth-shattering secret of hers, so wasn’t it only right that he trusted her back?

 

* * *

 

“I can't love him anymore. I can’t even love myself. I can’t love despair, Nanami-san. It just isn't possible. It'd make my entire life a lie!”

He’d told her his story—the Octagon, the finding of the files, the fact that Hinata-kun was a Reserve Course Student, and not only that—a Remnant of Despair, like himself and the others.

Then the immense, crushing anguish had caught up to him, and before he’d known it the tears had come flooding from his eyes.

Even now he weeps against her shoulder, and she holds him tightly against her, patting him on the back like he’s a small, distraught child.

“Don't worry, Komaeda-kun. I know it's hard, but you'll come to terms with it eventually. We all will. Just because the others are what you call Remnants of Despair doesn’t mean they’re beyond hope, you know. It doesn’t mean I love all of you any less that I do. Despite this horrible situation, you'll find your own path—in fact, we’ll find our paths forward together. There has to be some way we can all get out of this. Believe in love. Believe in hope, Komaeda-kun!”

As if those last five words had been a spell he lifts his head from her, dazzled.

“…Yes, Nanami-san. You're right… You have hope, and that’s why I believe in you. In fact, you _are_ hope; my only hope, our only hope… and for that, I love you more than life itself.”

He leans up, presses his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, and then he's gone in a rush of wind, the uneven tails of his jacket flapping behind him like the wings of ravens.


	13. Chapter 13

He has it. He has everything in the palm of his hand—an elaborately crafted plan—almost too elaborate for the pathetic likes of him!

He’d thought that there was no way out of it now, luck had shown him the way—that there was, in fact, a single solution.

_The_ _traitor. Nanami-san._

If she was really from this Future Foundation… she must not be a Remnant.

She in turn was their only hope—hope not just for Komaeda alone, but for the rest of them—for the world.

She alone must make it through this despair-induced Killing Game, escape off this island, and spread hope to the world.

Did it pain him in the slightest, what he was about to do, all the lives he would end? Of course not!

When it boiled down to it, they were all liars. All despair.

Him he hadn’t expected much from, even at the beginning, but Hinata-kun had been young and kind and promising, and now to learn that he was merely a Reserve Course Student—a specimen more lowly that Komaeda himself—and to top that all off—a Remnant of Despair?

In anger he fingers his silver chain, almost cuts himself on the sharp, wanting edge of Hinata’s crystal, where that last Shard ought to be. Well, he’d have no need for it now.

In his weakness, however, he’d let himself fall into the trap of talking to Hinata-kun before the Trial began, just for a last time, before he severed all ties.

“And did you know, in the end, the killer turned out to be the main character, the high school student herself? What a ride!”

Hinata-kun had simply stared when he’d finished his story, dumbfounded. Had it been the revelations of Komaeda's past, which he’d disguised with a stupid lie, pathetic enough to want to comfort Hinata-kun till the bitter end? Or had Hinata simply not caught on to Komaeda’s spoken will, the reason that Komaeda wouldn’t be able to love him anymore?

“Hinata-kun…”

His voice chokes, and for a split second he considers giving up; not going on, but he has to, for the sake of Nanami-san, standing beside Hinata-kun with a deep sorrow etched into her face.

“I love—I loved—the Hope sleeping inside you.”

He turns, leaving Hinata shellshocked and frozen in place, and then steps into the elevator, where the rest of the Remnants of Despair are waiting.

 

* * *

 

“No; that’s wrong!” Hinata yells, his voice ringing in the courtroom.

Now they have less than half the capacity, and the loss is starting to make itself boldly known, announcing itself with every echoing repeat of Hinata’s voice.

“Komaeda wouldn’t—he wouldn’t simply kill himself like that! There has to be something we’ve missed—something we’ve overlooked!”

 _If you ever loved me,_ Komaeda’s voice taunts from the shadows, _If you thought you ever knew anything about me, now’s the chance to prove it!_

With that stalemate, court goes into recess, and Hinata finds himself a drink of water, hands Nanami a glass as well.

She takes the offered water, and sips, though her gaze is dark and sorrowful.

Seeing his tortured, pained features; the deep, vengeful slashes in his thighs; the spear buried like a landmark in his stomach as the final killing blow—that must have hurt her, as much as it would have hurt Komaeda.

After the others had examined the body, Hinata had stayed behind and knelt beside it soundlessly, the knees of his trousers soaking up the blood that had flowed from Komaeda’s maimed stomach, and pooled around him on the floor.

No one else had noticed what he was looking for during their respective investigations, and only he knew where it was—right under the ropes that Komaeda had lashed round his left wrist, carefully concealed.

To the last, no one but he, Nanami and and Komaeda himself had known about that band of contrition, seared deeply into his flesh, and now Hinata carried that burden, that one unsolved regret.

Hinata had felt for the scar with his fingertips and found it there, roughened, raised—but crumbling under his fingers: just about to heal, about to fall away and reveal the smooth, new skin beneath.

Well, that would never happen now, after all that had been said and done—Komaeda was already gone before they made it to him, his soul drained from his body as a river of blood. Hinata feels the agony in his flesh as surely as Komaeda had stabbed him, instead.

Every other incision that Komaeda had carved into his own body—the sure conviction with which he’d impaled his own hand on the army knife—why would anyone go to such lengths? Could even immense hatred for himself justify this terrible cruelty?

It had to be someone else, someone else who had come quietly to this small, dingy shed haunted by the silhouettes of cardboard boxes and Monokuma standees, and spirited away the shimmer in Komaeda’s eye; the laugh on his lips.

Komaeda would never, ever die like this.

After all, hadn’t he given up on that, long, long ago, lying peacefully asleep beside Hinata on his bed?

“Court’s back in session, you bastards!”

Hinata hauls himself from his seat and squeezes Nanami’s hand, and she squeezes back, her palm trembling. It’s all right, Hinata reassures himself. Nanami had no reason to worry. Whatever the circumstances—they would find out the truth. They’d reveal Komaeda’s true killer, and then they would get out of there alive. All of them.

 

* * *

 

“Why!” Hinata screams, torn in two by hurt and anger and—

“Why did he do this? How could he! How dare he!” he rages, wanting to throw himself at the wall, at someone—anyone—but Nanami stops him.

“Hey,” she soothes, catching his flailing arm in her hand, where flesh meets flesh with a sharp, fresh sting. “Look at me, Hinata-kun.”

“Shut up! I don’t care! I—”

“Hinata-kun!”

He goes quiet, mute, subdued; dead.

“You have to understand why I’m doing this. I’m doing this… because I love you. I love you, and everyone else, and Komaeda-kun as well.”

“Bullshit!”

Sonia looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Even Kuzuryuu averts his gaze, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hinata-kun… You wouldn’t know this beforehand, but Komaeda-kun was pretty torn up about it, too. He made the only logical decision at that point.

“So?” He’s shouting every word now, and she flinches away at his fury, but soon returns, even more insistent than before.

“You’ll find out why I have to go, soon enough. I can’t let you die now, Hinata-kun, even if I know I’m betraying Komaeda-kun’s wishes, even if it’s the wrong thing to do.”

“What do you mean, _betraying his wishes_? We fell right into his trap! Who cares about him! _He’s_ the one who betrayed _us—_ tore us apart! If he wanted to die so badly, why not choose someone else to die with him!”

His throat is raw and full to bursting, and these words that are spilling like a poison from his lips must be hurting everyone else so deeply, but he doesn’t care, just wants to expel this terrible fury that’s inside him, wants to give everyone a taste of his immense, implacable sorrow.

“It’s because I don’t believe merely in hope, Hinata-kun. I also believe in love. Komaeda-kun believed in hope, which was the right thing—the moral thing—to do, but he didn’t love all of you enough to come up with a solution together. Rather, he trusted only in his own hope—and that was his undoing. That’s how you were able to find out who his real murderer was.”

“Don’t you fucking dare call yourself a murderer! You were the real victim here!”

“Hey, Hinata-kun… Remember this. Hope without love is just selfish desire, but hope with love can perform true miracles. I want you to live, so that you can use your love, your hope to find your own way out. And when all of this is over… You might not even miss me, after a while.”

“How could you… how could you think of saying that?” He’s broken; bruised, and he just wants this to end. To end, all of it, and then he will join her. He must follow.

“As I said… you’ll find out, soon enough.”

He clamps his jaw shut, turns stubbornly away, doesn't want to see her face, but she touches him gently on the shoulder.

“… I loved you, Hinata-kun… and even now, I love you still. I loved the sound of my name on your voice, I loved the games we played, the two of us, and I loved everything we had together. Don’t let that go to waste, now.”

Upon hearing those words he whirls back in a mad panic; _no, no, no, don't you dare say those goodbyes!_

She reaches up to him, gives him one last, shining kiss on the lips that tastes of salt and bittersweet parting. A single tear slips down her cheek, but her voice is firm and resolute.

“Never forget love, Hinata-kun. Never stop loving. Love will be your Hope.”

And then she’s pulling away, and then— _sweet heavens—_ she’s clutching Usami’s hand, and he can only watch helplessly, uselessly, as the both of them grow smaller, and smaller, and smaller, walking away from him forever, into the blinding whiteness.

 

* * *

 

He forgets how to grieve. The organ that controls that impulse has been blackened beyond recognition, and even as they struggle through the last chapter of their time here, even as their world falls apart—all he can think of is _her_.

That’s why, when he sees her apparition, clear as day, standing there as if nothing had happened, he doesn’t feel the slightest shred of emotion. That’s why, when he had gone to her cottage, and heard her last thoughts—that failed, panicked Konami Code—had she really thought it would save her? Had she really hoped beyond hope?

And yet all that had failed her. It had failed them all. They were all ghosts now, destined for an eternity of worthless struggle. So, Komaeda had been right all along.

The enemy wasn’t Nanami, wasn’t even Komaeda.

It was him. It was all of them, and that was why he had to die, why they all had to die, why Nanami alone had to live.

She was their hope, and they as Remnants of Despair—how could they afford to wake, and cast destruction over the world?

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Was it too much just to ask to stay in this dream, on this island forever? To see Nanami again?

Either way he finds himself cornered by Despair, chased down a one-way street. All that’s left is for him to do the inevitable, to press the button, to make that Hobson’s choice. His hand moves, like an undead thing, descending slowly upon the button—

**No; that’s wrong!**

“…Nana…mi…?”

He is floating in empty space, in between bytes of information, and she is floating with him, right in front of him, bobbing up and down on the current between strings of ones and zeroes.

 **Stop sitting on the fence like this! It’s not going to help anything, do you hear me? Like I said, Hinata-kun—** ** _you_ ** **have to go out there, and create your own future!**

“What…? How—”

**As long as you’re alive, there is always hope! Only you can do it, and I believe in you. I always have! No more indecision, understand? Now go on. Get out there, tiger.**

She gives him a gentle shove, and all of a sudden falling away from himself, out of his own body… no, now he’s standing back in the courtroom, as if he’d never left.

Surrounding him are multiple, repeated images of himself—no, that’s not him. The apparition has his face, his hair, his voice, even—though it’s flat and dead and writhes eerily like maggots—but it’s not him. It won’t be.

It’ll never be, not while he still has breath left in him.

He’ll fight back, in the name of Faith—in the name of Hope—in the name… of Love.

_…Thank you, Nanami._

Everything shatters.


	14. Chapter 14

Komaeda Nagito wakes up dead.

All he can remember is the suffocating roll of the noxious fumes into his nose; clogging up his thoughts and dulling the excruciating pain in his thighs and his hand, and if he had never known what a spear to the stomach had felt like, here it was to remind him now—there! And again! And again, like the torment of Prometheus!

Komaeda Nagito wakes up screaming.

There are several people in the room with him, and half a dozen of them sprint over and monitor his heart rate, his breathing, the IV in his arm, but he couldn’t care less, because if he’s not dead, and this isn’t hell, that can only mean one thing.

The Remnants of Despair have won. That must be the only reason he’s here, alive.

What’s he doing? He’s a plague to this world.

Why are they giving him blood?

With a wild cry he moves, right arm moving to tear out the needle in his left, but several shouting figures hold him down; voices yell, “He’s crazy! Someone stop him!”

—But he’s not the insane one, _everyone else is_ , and if they’re here, Nanami is—Nanami-san was—

Komaeda’s breath sprints out across his chest in a breathless sob. “ _Killed_ —”

“What are you talking about?” That one voice, bold and raised and so very distinct from the rest, sends terrible tremors down his spine, puts an indescribable hatred into his bones. “You were the one who killed—”

“Be quiet!” Komaeda shrieks. “You filthy Remnant, you traitor, you enemy of Hope—”

“None of you are Remnants of Despair anymore, Komaeda-kun,” a new voice says, and the very force of it—that compelling, magnetic tone—makes Komaeda fall silent at once. Somehow he feels, without knowing why—that this new, unknown person is someone to be trusted… to be respected.

 _Wait… none of_ you? “Who… are you?” Komaeda asks, listening to the tinny, faraway-sounding timbre of his own voice, as if he was listening to himself speak down a telephone line.

“My name is Naegi Makoto,” the soothing voice says, “And I’m here to tell you that you’re finally free from the despair of Enoshima Junko. You’re all right now; your mind’s been cleared from the brainwashing effects of her Despair, and Hinata-kun here played no small part in it. His multitude of Talents have made him indisposable to the Foundation, you know.”

 _Foundation?_ Future _… Foundation?_ And what was that about a multitude of Talents? Wasn’t Hinata Hajime just as worthless—no, even more worthless than he was?

Enoshima Junko. Who was she? And why had her name invoked a desperate tremor in his left—his left—it’s gone. His left hand is… gone, and all that’s left there is a bandaged stump, coming abruptly to a halt where his palm, his fingers had been, those same fingers that had fit so well in Hinata’s hand, that had held Hinata-kun’s Hope Shards, small and solid and sparkling.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so instead he settles on a quiet awe, a silent, childlike contemplation.

“I think he’s in shock,” Naegi declares. “Maybe it’s best you tend to the other patients, guys. Thanks for the help here.”

A chorus of mumblings, and then the figures disperse from his bedside, moving off slowly to the other parts of the ward.

“Ah—not you, Hinata-kun. I’d like you to stay for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Whatever.” Hinata tugs off his surgical gloves, and sits down heavily on a chair next to Komaeda’s bedside, watching him stare like a wide-eyed idiot at the remains of his left hand. They’d had to go ahead with the amputation soon after he’d been released from the cryonic state of the Neo World Program’s simulation chambers—if the hand started to fester, it’d probably affect the rest of his body, and he might suffer other complications or infections.

They hadn’t really asked Komaeda for his take on the matter, but it had generally been of the opinion that no one would want to have a rotting woman’s hand attached to their left wrist. And so it had fallen to Hinata, as temporary Super High School Level Surgeon, to fix him again.

And fix him he had—if the definition of _fixed_ was to produce in Komaeda this still, wondrous—this  _dumb_ gaze.

But no matter how many Talents converged in him, they would never be able to do the impossible—to bring Nanami back from the dead.

He’d experienced an immediate, heart-wrenching loss as soon as he’d woken up, and it was then that it came back to him, that he remembered—remembered why exactly she’d said all those words to him, back then.

 _“_ _As I said… you’ll find out soon enough.”_ That she was dead. That there was no hope for her… that she was never coming back. Komaeda’s folly, his desperate plan to save her from oblivion—had all been for naught. His anguish, his distress, his love. All of it for a big, empty nothing.

Hinata almost feels sorry for him, then.

“You must be feeling the stress too, Hinata-kun,” Naegi tells him, and Hinata doesn’t even have to admit it, because it’s there, clear as day. Naegi was the true Super High School Level Hope—adamantly, almost stupidly optimistic in the face of despair—a true leader to be respected and followed.

Him, on the other hand—a broken amalgamation, a mishmash, manufactured chimaera of emotionless Talents, welded together into this worthless body.

And yet Naegi kept telling him that he was valuable, that he was needed, and despite himself, Naegi’s hope had been… infectious, to say the least. Infectious enough for him to not botch up Komaeda’s operation in a fit of malice, or to refuse to wake up his mind from its comatose, traumatised death-state.

It didn’t change anything, though. Nothing.

Komaeda had still been the one malicious enough to point his finger at Nanami, to have her branded as the traitor, and sent to her grave. She had done nothing wrong, and for that, resentment had burned a hole in the pit of Hinata’s stomach whenever he walked by Komaeda’s bed, watched his peaceful, oblivious, sleeping face, and wished he could smash it in with a rock.

Why was he alive, and why was she dead? Why did things have to happen that way?

He had watched the couples embrace, tears and shouts and cries of laughter as they’d been reunited—Sonia into a bewildered Tanaka’s arms, Nidai lifting Owari off the ground, though he had barely recovered himself—and Kuzuryuu burying his face in Pekoyama’s shoulder, emotion muting his tiny body.

So where was Nanami in all this? Why had there only been fifteen capsules, and why were they now one person short?

“Hinata-kun… I just wanted to let you know that Souda-kun wants to talk to you.” Naegi pats his shoulder. “I think you’ll like what he’s got for you.”

What Souda had gotten for him? Sure, why not—it wasn’t as if liking or not liking something made much difference in his emotional state nowadays.

 

* * *

 

 

Souda’s waiting for him in the spanking new lab where he tinkers with his multitude of projects; though there have been quite a few that have helped them immensely in their various mission, his latest appears to be a state-of-the-art, automated hamster enclosure for Tanaka’s Devas. Hinata decides, rather wisely, not to ask.

“Three… two… one… and… surprise!” Souda yanks off the silvery vinyl sheet with glee. Hinata looks at the object underneath the sheet, blankly. It’s some sort of computer.

Great, that’s great, but he doesn’t really need one, doesn’t really want one, he’s never really wanted anything but—

“Hinata-kun? Are you all right?” In shock, he whips his head up towards the voice, thinking for a moment that he’s seeing things, but no; that is Nanami Chiaki all right, pretty as a picture and ripe as life, waving out at him from behind the screen. His heart stops, the world around him contracting tightly into a small, hard knot.

“Souda-kun said you weren’t looking too good recently, so I should cheer you up when I first got to meet you!”

 _First… got to meet…?_ Oh. It’s not her, after all. He’s been mistaken.

The smiling face on the screen is merely an AI. A pale shadow. A plastic imitation. How had he gotten his hopes up in the first place?

_Stupid._

All of a sudden, he’s tempted to stab himself with the screwdriver hanging from Souda’s toolbelt.

“How about it?” Souda is grinning right into his face, evidently proud, and Hinata doesn’t have the heart to tell him that despite his best efforts, that’s not Nanami; it’s merely a poor shadow of her, and could never compare—

“I loved you, Hinata-kun, and even now I love you still. I loved the sound of my name on your voice, I loved the games we played, and I loved everything we had together. Don’t let that go to waste, now.”

_…What?_

“Never forget love, Hinata-kun. Never stop loving. Love will be your Hope.”

“How’s that, huh?” Souda looks like he’s over the moon, eyes sparkling like tourmaline, hand pressed over his widely grinning mouth.

Hinata is still staring stupidly at Nanami’s smiling face on the screen. _How—?_

“Y’see, when the Foundation went in to salvage all we could from the Program, we found some clues—a trail of breadcrumbs, if you will—pointing to a hidden cache on the root level of the Program. It contained all the basic framework for Nanami-san’s Observer AI, and even the saved data from her memories of our island life, too. Even the force shutdown couldn’t get at _that_ treasure trove. Add in some of Gekkogahara Miaya-san’s AI software and Fujisaki Chihiro-kun’s notes, with some pitching in from our talented in-house animator, Mitarai Ryouta-kun, and there you have it! Nanami Chiaki 2.0, bigger, aaaaand, better!”

“Souda…” Hinata doesn’t know what to say, gaze flitting between Nanami’s gently smiling features, lovingly drawn by Mitarai, and Souda’s proud parent face.

“What are you waiting for, Hinata-kun? Come on, thank him—don’t be rude!”

Hinata stumbles out a terribly inadequate apology, and Souda, smirking knowingly, declares that he’ll “leave them to it”, and zips out of the room, cackling wildly.

Hinata stares for a long while, and then he rushes forward, and embraces the screen. It’s nothing like the body that Nanami had had while she had been alive, and nothing compared to even the body she had been given on the island, the body he had kissed and touched and loved and worshipped, but it is her, all right.

He has Nanami back again.

“Hinata-kun,” Nanami says. “Yeah?” Hinata asks, still lost in blissful thought.

“Tell me… about me.” The request is unexpected; so much so that it starts the gears back up in his brain again. He pulls away, stares, confused, at her lovely face.

“Come again?”

“Tell me about me. What I was like when I was alive. I don’t have memories from before the Neo World Program, you see. So tell me what I was like, as a person. How did we meet? What did we do together?”

“Well,” Hinata laughs, the tears seeping back under his eyelids again, “I’ll never forget how I first met you. You see, I’d skipped class one day, and run out to the fountain in a fit of dejection, and then all of a sudden, I bumped into someone gaming on their handheld…”


	15. Chapter 15

Hinata can’t help but spend all his time off with Nanami; carrying her everywhere he goes, setting a place for her at the table, and watching her chow with delight into the simulated food that Hanamura had designed for her—he’d gone a bit overboard with how lavish it was, but it seems that both of them had had their fun, and Hinata finds that he doesn’t mind a bit how everyone else dotes on Nanami; keeps asking after her on their respective smartphones and tablets.

Before, on the island, he’d used to have Nanami to himself, but now, as the AI in charge of the Foundation’s mainframe, she belongs to everyone, coordinating frontline missions and rescue efforts. In fact, she’s just as busy as Hinata these days—overseeing operations and being the calm voice in everyone’s earpieces. It’s a strategy game that suits her well, Hinata feels, and she’s been excellent at what she does; like a fish in water with her new position of command.

Still, there’s something that had been irking him ever since he woke up, and that irked him still.

“Hey, Nanami,” he calls out to her one day, lying in his work suit on his bed with his arms above his head. “Do you hate Komaeda for what he did?”

“For what he did?” Her holographic projection flickers into life, lying beside him on the bed, in her school uniform with the hood pulled up. “He’s done a lot of things, Hinata-kun.”

“You know what I mean. For betraying us. For making me choose between myself and you. I hated myself for a while then, for sending you to your second death… and I’m still not sure I can forgive myself for that… nor him, for that matter.”

It takes Nanami a while to reply, her holographic image going still and pensive for a while.

“I think… ultimately, I can’t hate him, based on what he did. He only did what he thought was right, and he was really torn up about it, I suppose. Under the circumstances, he thought there was no other way for him. He must have struggled with it a lot before he came to me.”

“He… came to you?” Well, this was news.

“That’s right. Of course, that was before he came up with that plan of his—but here, take a look.”

The image blurs and disappears, only to be replaced by a familiar bed—the king-sized ones they’d had in the Strawberry House. So, it was Komaeda’s room.

Komaeda’s sitting and sobbing into Nanami’s shoulder, and Hinata feels an automatic spike of resentment, but decides to listen anyway.

“I… I could never say this before, but I… I loved him, Nanami-san. After all… he’s the only one beside you who’s showed me kindness, who was willing to talk to me when no one else would; willing to spend time with me when I thought I was all alone; willing to save me even though he had absolutely no reason to… and now, I can't even do that anymore. Even that tiny piece of Hope’s been taken away from me… why did it have to end up… like this?”

 _Love him?_  Had Komaeda really—

A sharp stab of pain races through Hinata’s chest.

So, Komaeda been forced to make the same, painful decision between two people he loved... and in the end, decimated by his bitter struggle, he’d decided to sacrifice himself, along with Hinata, for Nanami? For what he thought was Hope?

Hinata doesn’t know, but faced with the same situation, he can’t bring himself to say that he wouldn’t do the same.

“He never lost sight of hope, Hinata-kun,” Nanami’s disembodied voice speaks out of nowhere, making him jump. “But he did lose sight of the love that we had together. I think… I think it’s up to you to help him find that love, to learn to open his heart again. When he woke up, he lost one of the two people he loved most in the world. Please make sure he doesn’t lose the other. Promise me that, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata swallows. “I—I promise.” And he means it. He does.

“Thank you, Hinata-kun.” A pause, and then she speaks, voice quiet and contemplative. “You know… I’ve been so lucky.”

“Lucky? Why?”

“To have met you twice… and to have fallen in love with you, both times. I’m sure that when I was still alive, I must have loved you as much as I do now, judging by the stories that you’ve told me. And now, it’s time for you to spread that love. Go and love him, Hinata-kun. Just like we agreed on, so long ago. _We_ were going to be the ones to make friends with him, and now, _you’re_ going to be the one to save him."

She pauses for a while, and Hinata lets the words sink in.

"You know, Hinata-kun... Once a person hopes, once a person learns to love—that hope never truly dies, even in the face of despair. The seed of hope, that little flame, can reawaken the embers. It’s true for all of you too—that the only reason why you’re alive right now is because Naegi-kun believed in you—believed that even in the depths of despair, you could find a way to become hope again, too. Right now, I think… I think only you can teach him the meaning of true hope—hope borne on the wings of love—and that, I think, what he was so desperately trying to find all along, on the island. Perhaps you could even make him a better person. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Hinata considers it.

“… Yeah… yeah, I guess I would.”

“That’s great, Hinata-kun! Thank you… I really believe in you and your abilities, you know. I always have! No more indecision, understand? Now go on… Get out there, tiger.”

 

* * *

 

Komaeda watches Hinata breaking down every one of his classmates’ despairing soliloquies, and proceed to re-infuse them with a strange, brilliant hope of his own creation; uniquely bright, and undeniably, beautifully _Hinata_. There are no other words for it—as he watches Hinata lead his classmates away from despair, he’s deeply in awe; he’s falling in love all over again, and it takes him all his effort to pull away from the recording, and turn back to Nanami’s pleasant smile.

“Hinata-kun… he did all that? By himself? Even after he suffered the despair of your death?”

“That’s right,” Nanami tells him, pride seeping into her voice. “He was the hope that you’d always longed for, after all.”

“If only I’d been there to see that,” Komaeda muses with a sigh, settling his elbows down onto the desk as his attention gravitates back towards the screen; towards Hinata’s proud, assured confidence.

“If only I hadn’t given up on him so soon.” His lips settle into a pout as he folds his arms, and rests his chin on top of them.

“Well, it’s not too late,” Nanami smiles. “After all, he’s still around, isn’t he? There’s still plenty of work left to do, plenty of hope that the world needs, and if you really want to nurture hope, what better way to do it than on the frontlines? Hinata-kun needs someone he can love; someone that will love him back, and that’s you. It’s always been, right from the start.”

Komaeda looks up, startled by how accurately she’s put his jumbled thoughts into words. Still his own inadequacy plagues him, throws up doubt like a curtain of fog into his face.

“But… Are you sure, Nanami-san? What if I’m not up to the task? What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Remember what I told you, Komaeda-kun. Believe in love. Hope is love. To love someone is to hope. I hope you've realized that by now. Believe in love, and things will start to look up. I’m sure of it!”

It takes Komaeda a while to respond. “I’ll… give it a try, then,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Nanami, but she hears him all the same.

“That’s right. I’m sure you’ll be able to forge your own path ahead, no matter the difficulties.”

“Thank you, Nanami-san.” She watches his retreating figure, leaving a little straighter than it had been when he’d first come in, and feels a kind of relief she’s not felt in ages.


	16. Chapter 16

Komaeda’s luck and his impeccable analytical skill are in great demand wherever they go; Hinata can barely find a moment where he’s in his tent, under the flimsy illusion that they’ll finally get some rest together, when something or another’s called to Komaeda’s attention, and he has to unzip the tent flap and crawl out again, shadows coalescing underneath his eyes as he emerges into the night air.

Hinata himself is similarly popular—his vast array of skills are forever needed in one place or another, and between them they’re fairly working around the clock, one or the other absent from their shared tent.

Hinata is patient, though; he’s waited this long, he can wait a little longer until Komaeda re-enters; tired, sluggish, but still affectionate. When Komaeda returns his warmth to Hinata’s side, he uses Hinata’s arm as a pillow, snuggling into his chest with a small yawn that sets Hinata yawning too. He throws an arm over Komaeda’s slim waist, reaches for his good hand. Komaeda gives it to him, and he traces the fine lines on Komaeda’s palm, the fingertips roughened by work. He’d been almost insubstantial when he’d woken up—if you turned him sideways he’d probably disappear—but now that he’s on field missions, he’s developed a bit of muscle in his chest, legs and arms, and his face is fuller now, though still sleek, the eyes intelligent and liquid like quicksilver.

Mostly his work is confined to field analytics and situation analysis, but when they’re short on hands he can be seen leading a team of Foundation members into the remains of a collapsed building, or lifting survivors out of wreckage with his new, improved left hand—a parting gift from Souda before they’d set out on Komaeda’s first fieldwork mission.

He’d been so delighted with it that all he’d done for a full ten minutes was sit and stare at it, twisting it this way and that, and flexing the sleek fingers.

He’d discovered some _useful_ attachments, too.

“Why the hell would he give you a _vibrating middle finger?_ ” Hinata’s entire face has gone the exact shade of Koizumi’s hair, and he realises, too late, that his voice is far too loud.

Saionji crowds over, a sneer on her otherwise pretty face. “A _what,_ Pukey-eda?”

Komaeda’s stupid enough to lift his left hand in an attempt to show her, but Hinata grabs it and presses it back down to his side. “It’s, um, nothing!”

“Hmph.” Saionji crosses her arms, but flounces back to where Koizumi’s taking pictures of an array of dismantled Monokuma robots—they’ll be sent back for Togami and Souda to analyse together, and when they crack the mysteries behind the bots, that’s when their larger mission—the mission of rebuilding the world, and making sure nothing this terrible ever happens again—will make a great leap forward.

Though their creator has been destroyed, the Monokuma bots seem to function according to a separate system, and Hinata and his classmates have all been hard at work, trying to take it down. They’re making progress, slow and steady, and it’s heartening to watch.

“What about it?” Komaeda asks, once the rest are safely out of earshot, and Hinata realises, with a bolt of horror in his chest, that it’s not just his middle finger—every goddamned digit on that hand is armed and dangerous, and he swallows, hard.

“Just don’t go around showing people, all right?”

“But—”

“Don’t. Please.” Hinata is way in over his head, and he’s praying as hard as he can that Komaeda won’t investigate further. Thankfully, the heavens seem to have heard him loud and clear.

“All right, then. If Hinata-kun doesn’t want me to.”

“Good.” Hinata releases a shaky breath, and swears that he’ll have a good talk with Souda once they get back. _Damnit!_

 

* * *

 

“Hinata… -kun.” Komaeda yawns widely, large owl eyes blinking at him in the cozy darkness of their tent.

“What’s the matter?” Hinata asks, contentment swelling up in his heart as he observes Komaeda’s snowy mess of hair, the way a dark gleam has gathered in the middle of his full lips, and the way the collar of Hinata’s borrowed shirt hangs low on him, revealing those very same, prominent collarbones he’d marvelled at - when? It had seemed so long ago.

Komaeda’s still grasping his hand tightly, and then his comforting weight leaves Hinata’s arm, and he’s looming above Hinata in the gloom now, straddling his waist, hair a wild bouquet of white.

“We were busy today, so I forgot to give you something.”

Yeah, they had been—they’d spent the entire day trying to decontaminate a whole gymnasium full of brainwashed civilians, who’d lashed out at them when they got near, growling and drooling like zombies from a movie they might have watched in the old theatre back on the island.

 

* * *

 

It was only today that Komaeda had realised an all-new, previously undiscovered flamethrower function in his mechanised hand, which had come in handy for breaking through the reinforced steel doors, and they’d been so busy that they hadn’t even had much time for lunch. Komaeda had brought him his sandwich, carefully wrapped by Hanamura, and they’d climbed to the huge pile of rubble in the middle of the destroyed city, and sat there, eating and surveying the extent of the destruction.

Komaeda had dumped all his pickles on Hinata, and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, pinched a piece of ham from him when he wasn’t looking. Determined for revenge, Hinata had carefully wrapped up his sandwich, put it aside, and then tackled Komaeda without warning, tickling his ribs. Somehow, it had turned into an all out tussle, them rolling on the floor while their uneaten sandwiches observed at the side.

Komaeda might have put on some muscle from his work, and maybe it was just a coincidence that the sun had flashed in Hinata’s face a few times, disorientating him, but when it came down to it, he was faster, stronger, and more Talented—and so he’d ended up on top of Komaeda, straddling him at the waist, and hands on the dusty ground either side of him, panting hard while sweat rolled down his chin and dripped onto Komaeda’s shirt.

Komaeda had lain motionless beneath him, ribs rising and falling with every breath, just staring up into Hinata’s eyes in a sort of hushed adoration.

“Hinata-kun,” he’d murmured, right hand going up to trace the line of Hinata’s jaw. He’d done it with a touch so solemn, so precise, that Hinata’s heart had slowed to a singularity, an infinite point in time. Everything had pointed to the inevitable; such that Hinata had felt an inexplicable sense of deja vu as he’d bent down in a slow, fluid movement and kissed him for the first time, an overwhelming familiarity searing into his skin.

Komaeda’s lips had been just as soft as Hinata had thought they would be, lying awake on sleepless nights, his skin just as smooth as it had felt in his bathroom, and but now Komaeda was kissing him back with an impassioned ferocity, teeth scraping against Hinata’s lips, and then his throat; he hadn’t been ready for this, but he’d been prepared for it all the same; his mind delving into various imagined scenarios alone in his room at the Foundation’s new headquarters.

Imagination couldn’t have held a candle to the way Komaeda had gazed into his eyes, the fire in his irises slow and simmering, nor replicate the sigh of his voice as he’d breathed Hinata’s name into the stillness by his ear, imbibing it with all sorts of implications—pure, innocent; messy need and _filthy, overflowing desire._

He’d shuddered hard as Komaeda bit down on the shell of his ear, clawed the nails of his right hand down Hinata’s chest, under his shirt, and they would have stayed had way had Hinata’s watch not pinged, alerting him to an update.

Almost awkwardly, tenderly; they’d pulled away from each other, Hinata tugging his shirt back down and Komaeda pulling his collar up to hide the ruddy patch that Hinata had sucked into his neck.

“Uh… See you later, then.” How utterly inadequate these words had sounded in Hinata’s own ears, after all that had just happened.

Komaeda picks up his sandwich where he’s left it, the loose edge of the wrapper fluttering in a breeze that picks up his downy hair and tosses it back from his face, revealing his glimmering eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, his smile dazzling like a spotlight, and Hinata is reminded of those street muggers who flashed a torch in your face and made off with your wallet. Indeed he feels like something’s missing from him.

He wonders, numbly, if it could be his heart.

 

* * *

 

“What is it?” Hinata asks, peering up at Komaeda’s face, but he can’t make out Komaeda’s expression through all the darkness. Komaeda’s fingers move in his palm, and then he feels something small and hard in his palm, the pointy edge digging into his skin. He’s not felt this sensation in a long time.

“It’s for you,” Komaeda whispers in the heart-pounding silence that ensues. “Here—”

He reaches around, fingers fluttering against the nape of Hinata’s neck, and when he pulls away, Hinata reaches up to touch it. It’s a silver chain, the metal tracing a line of cool sensation across his skin, and Hinata doesn’t even have to look to know, heart lifting like a bird, what’s on it.

Six delicately pink shards, the colour of rose quartz shot through with dusky grey, and six more that are a dense silver, lit inexplicably from within like the birth of a star.

“Komaeda…”

“I had Souda-kun make it for me, from some gems that I found when I was mining in the mountains.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hinata murmurs, staring down at it; the infinite love of two stars in their trinary system condensed into two points of light on his chest. “Thank you, Komaeda.”

“You know what this means, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda hums, pleased with himself for a reason Hinata can’t fathom. One moment he’s sitting on Hinata’s stomach, holding his hand, and the next, he’s kneeling up with his hands on the waistband of his checkered underwear, and then he’s pulling it down, down, down those long, sleek legs.

Hinata swallows at the sight of his luminous expanse of skin, at the lines of his supple thighs and the deep curve of his hips, and the next thing he knows, Komaeda’s got it off one leg and then the other, and then he’s pressing something warm and soft into Hinata’s hands, the heat of his bare ass burning through one measly layer of shirt and making Hinata’s stomach churn like a blender.

This was a display of eroticism deliberately honed to a fine, burning point, and then thrust straight into Hinata’s gut in one fell swoop. How long had he been planning this? How long had he contained that swirling storm of desire into that long, spare frame, locked tightly behind those silver eyes?

“I want you to have these, Hinata-kun.” Every new breath that Komaeda exhales next to his ear sends a stream of static buzzing down his spine, and between his legs, and his face is so uncomfortably hot, he feels as though if anyone struck a match in this small space he would catch fire, and go up in flames.

“Stay up with me tonight,” Komaeda murmurs, lips brushing his skin, and it’s an offer he can’t refuse.

 

* * *

 

Komaeda has his bare legs tucked up to his chest, and his head is on Hinata’s shoulder, and together they watch the bright wet patch of moon that’s risen, clear and wavering like a sky lantern, upon the dark canvas of the night.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “Don’t you think I’m ever so lucky to have you? It makes me scared, sometimes… scared that if I get too close, something bad will happen to you, and I’ll have to carry that regret with me for the rest of my life.”

Hinata ruffles his hair gently, and when he answers, some part of Nanami seems to speak through him, too. “I think… that no matter what happens, you’ve got to believe in love. Hope is love, and to love someone is to hope. That may not have been possible for you before, but there’s no harm that’ll come in loving me—if you’re ever worried, Luck is one of those Talents I happen to have, too. Who knows? Maybe we were made for each other, to cancel out each other’s influences like counterweights." He reaches for Komaeda's hand.

"And anyway, should anything happen to us, that shouldn’t become a burden for you to shoulder. As long as we have these memories, then no matter what happens, we can still be happy that these things came to pass, right? Maybe misfortune will strike sometimes, but not even that can take away our experiences of good things. As long as that remains, we can always look forward to a better future, right? We can always—”

Komaeda squeezes his hand tightly, finishes his words for him. “Hope. We can always hope… isn’t that right?”


	17. Chapter 17

It was only right, Naegi had said, that they all take a break from rebuilding the world, and hurry back from all the corners of the world they’d drifted to, like dandelion seeds, to celebrate the opening of the new Kibougamine Gakuen.

There was no doubt that it would be a joyous affair, and Naegi’s rightful appointment as the Headmaster of the establishment has called for more than a few toasts, the members of the Foundation barely managing to cram themselves into Hotel Mirai’s small, second-storey restaurant.

Hanamura has been sweating in the kitchens all day, frying and steaming and baking and boiling, just to lay out the splendid feast that’s now glistening in heaps on the tables in front of their eyes. Though it’s already late December, their island base has remained humid and tropical, and it’s all Hinata can do not to fan himself with his nice dress shirt.

As it is, he plucks at the front of it sulkily, peeling it off his sweaty skin, but it just gravitates back and sticks to him irritatingly. There’s air conditioning in the restaurant, and they’ve pulled the sliding doors to the balcony shut to keep the cool air in, but the human tide seems to be generating more heat than the aircon system can keep up with.

Hinata finds himself envying Nanami, to whose projection any concerns of space or temperature never arose.

Dizzy and hot from the noise and the chatter, Hinata gets himself another large cup of punch, and decides to grab Komaeda a cup while he’s at it, too. The punch hasn’t been the only thing that’s flowing—Tsumiki had tripped over her own feet (really, that had to be a miracle in itself) and given Hanamura an extra-strength nosebleed. He’s sitting in a chair now, Ibuki fussing over him with tissues, and the Imposter standing awkwardly by her side. He’s in the guise of Togami today, and it had been pretty surreal to see two Togamis wandering around the room, picking up food at intervals.

Hinata’s had his share of small talk, trading stories with Souda, Sonia and Tanaka, and reporting his progress to Naegi, who’s regaled him with tales about the prospective new students that Kibougamine Gakuen will be expecting. Even though he’s a year younger than Hinata, he looks confident; charming in his dinner jacket (there was still something to be said about his height, though) and with Kirigiri-san standing next to him, half a head taller in her stilettos.

 _T_ _hey make a cute pair_ , Hinata muses with a grin spreading across his face.

Komaeda stays mostly quiet, though when Naegi had appeared, he’d stuck to the poor boy like superglue, and it had taken all Hinata’s skill at social arm-twisting to wrench him away, finally.

At any rate, he’s pretty tired now, and he supposes that he could do with some rest in his cottage. Komaeda offers to come with him, trailing a few steps behind Hinata as they exit down the side steps, tracing, Hinata realises, the exact same path that Komaeda had on that fateful night.

There’s no storm now, and he’s not about to go jumping into the pool again, but the memories it brings back, and the realisation of just how much has changed since then, makes a little stream of warmth creep into his heart.

Hinata unlocks the cottage door, and it swings open, the room inside familiar and welcoming. He’s not been back ever since he’d moved into his room at the Foundation headquarters, and boy did it feel good to look around, to observe that everything has been re-created for him exactly as it had been in the Program. He marvels at the long, deep scratch on one of his floorboards. It’s just as he remembers from the simulation.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Hinata calls to Komaeda, who’s flopped face down on the bed, evidently worn out by the evening, and Komaeda groans a weary acknowledgement, voice muffled by the sheets.

If Hinata lets his thoughts wander amidst the sound of the running water, he can see in his mind’s eye how Komaeda had been sprawled on his bathroom floor, full of fear and despair and pool water, and he can remember just how it had felt then, the cold slap of water on his chest as he’d dived in, the realisation that there was no going back.

What would have happened, then, if he hadn’t jumped? Hadn’t saved Komaeda? Now he’d surely be in the bitter depths of regret, lonely and loveless. What a stroke of luck it had been for him, then—or rather, as Komaeda would call it, Hope.

Perhaps hope really _is_ the better word.

When he’s done he turns off the water, wraps himself in a towel, and pushes open the bathroom door, shaking his wet fringe out of his eyes. He takes a few steps forward into the room, glances over at the bed, and drops his towel in shock.

Komaeda is on his back on Hinata’s bed, legs in the air, one hand between his thighs, and the other pressing an eerily familiar blue garment over his face.

His black trousers are halfway down, the belt hanging loose and the silver buckle flashing with every motion, and _good God_ , Hinata should have known, because that’s his _left_ hand he’s got there, three vibrating fingers up his ass, and Hinata feels a serpent of heat choke his throat and invade his chest.

Komaeda’s shirt is messily unbuttoned, right hand playing with his sensitive chest, and his face is contorted into an expression of such vulnerable arousal that it makes Hinata shiver, a full-body spasm that grips every part of him and shakes him like he’s between the jaws of a wild animal.

“Komaeda… what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“H—Hinata-kun’s, underwear, s—smells like him—”

The heat is pooling between his own legs now, and if he hadn’t felt it before, his own shivering need clambers up his throat, undeniable, impossible to ignore. He’s driven to action.

Barking out a harsh laugh, he advances on Komaeda, closing the distance between them in seconds.

“You really thought I’d let you off for starting without me?” he growls, marching towards the bed, and Komaeda lets out a surprised mewl at the tone of his voice, eyes going wide with shame, but it's an afterthought; he’s too far gone, they both are.

When Hinata crushes his mouth to Komaeda’s, he finds that Komaeda tastes sweetly of fruit punch, and that somehow just serves to turn him on even more.

Hinata’s blindly groping hand finds Komaeda’s left ass cheek, and so he squeezes hard, prompting a surprised mewl from Komaeda as his brows shoot up under his messy fringe. The vibrations spiral along Hinata’s tongue as Komaeda moans into his mouth, his voice a full, needy shiver.

“Fuck, I can’t wait anymore,” Hinata snarls, pulling away, but Komaeda, impatient for contact, pulls the sticky fingers of his left hand out of himself, grasps a handful of hair at the back of Hinata’s head, and pulls him close again to kiss him sloppily, teeth slipping across his throat and right hand splayed out across his own stomach.

“Yes,” he gasps, “Hinata-kun, I feel… so hot, I don’t think I can—”

“Damn right,” Hinata pants, “So let go of me, or we’ll never get anywhere like this.”

“Yes, yes,” Komaeda moans breathlessly, and he releases Hinata all at once; bites his lip as he kicks his trousers off, curls his legs back towards his chest and spreads himself with the fingers of his right hand.

_Fuck, that’s hot._

Hinata’s mind is a maelstrom of fire, fashioned into a spear with one impulse at its tip, and so he follows it, pushes into Komaeda’s waiting body.

Komaeda’s tight even with preparation, and it must hurt him badly, because he has tears streaking down his face, he’s straining so hard the planes of his stomach tremble with tension, and Hinata has barely gotten anything in yet.

“Relax, just relax,” Hinata babbles, and it’s probably the most stupid thing to say at this point, because Komaeda sobs, “I’m s—sorry, Hinata-kun, trying, but H—Hinata-kun’s just so, s—so,  _big..._  You m—might not, fit, what if I e—explode, w—what if I die—”

Hinata grits his teeth as Komaeda’s spasming body clenches around what little of himself he has inside Komaeda, and growls out, more in restraint than in frustration, “It’s… fine. Just… take, take it slow—you don’t, need to rush—tell you, what, you can grab my, arm, here, and if it hurts too much, just tell me, tell me to stop—”

It sounds gallant coming out of his mouth, but in reality, there’s nothing he’d like more than to just pin Komaeda’s wrists above his head and fuck him senseless.

Komaeda nods, irises swirling and gaze unsteady as he clutches Hinata’s arm with his right hand so hard that Hinata is glad Komaeda’s not using his prosthetic, or his bones would be crushed.

“I, think I’m ready now, H—Hinata, -kun.”

The process is excruciatingly slow, but Komaeda’s adorable mewls when Hinata leans over to kiss him partly make up for it. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he makes adorable, fluttering gasps when Hinata teases a nipple with his free hand, or strokes between his legs, thumbnail scraping at the underside. Hinata’s name hangs on Komaeda’s lips and stains his moans as he slides in— _start, stop, start, stop._

Komaeda’s nails will probably leave scars, Hinata realises, wincing as Komaeda’s hand clenches tight on his arm again.

Between the long time it’s taken for them to get here, and the burning impatience that’s consumed every limb, Hinata thinks he might not even make it to the main event, but surprisingly he’s kept it up till now, willing both himself and Komaeda to go _faster, faster, faster_.

And then Komaeda takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when he releases it in a shivery sigh, silver eyes dilated into a giddy whirlpool, Hinata slips forward, all of a sudden; he’s finally all the way in, just like that.

It catches him off guard, how immensely erotic it is to see the last few inches of himself _disappear_ into Komaeda’s body— _fuck_ , he’d almost come just from that.

Another surge of heat attacks him again just recalling the too-easy slide of penetration, Komaeda’s wide open eyes as Hinata had sunk deep into his body, but now they can finally go on; Komaeda has a hand on his stomach, his eyes glassy and unfocused with lust.

“So _full_ ,” he murmurs, “H—Hinata-kun’s… so big,  makes m—me, so full, I’m burning up ins—side, so, please, m—mess me up, want, want Hinata-kun to fuck me—”

Hinata’s answer comes in a low, grating purr. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“That’s, _ah—_ so intense, I can’t, _a_ — _ah_ , can’t, Hinata-kun, Hina— _ah,_ -kun, _haah_ , more, please, feels, amazing—so, hot, Hinata-kun’s is so, hot, I’m burning up, _ah,_ want you to _wreck_ , me, _nhh—_ ”

“You’d better, watch that mouth of yours,” Hinata groans as he thrusts forwards, pressing Komaeda’s body into the mattress; Komaeda's eyes are squeezed shut, a deep flush blooming on his chest, throat and cheeks, and his hands grasp wildly at Hinata’s back as his cries out, voice straining in his vocal chords. A shining fluid has leaked onto his stomach, where it settles between the ridged muscles, flows into the valley between his hipbones.

“More— _ah, more—!_ ”

“Fuck, Komaeda, you’re perfect—”

Hinata grips Komaeda’s hips roughly so he can shift positions, shoving himself inside Komaeda at an angle that makes him curl his toes against the bedsheets and shake violently against Hinata as panted cries escapes his throat.

“Hina— _ah,_ Hinata-kun, feels, _nnh,_ good! More, please, fuck, fuck me, to pieces, Hinata-kun’s s—so deep, so good, I can’t, p—please, _aaa—aah_ , f—fill me up—”

He’s clutching the headboard now, knuckles pale, and his body arches under Hinata’s, sleekly exposed and completely open. Hinata reaches in and strokes him hard, once, twice; he’s close himself, and if he can time this just right—

Fuck, it’s too late; he presses back frantically against the tide, but then something deep inside him gives, and before he knows it he’s spent, twitching and jerking as he empties himself inside Komaeda, who makes a strange gurgling noise as he’s being filled.

Hinata continues to pump his hand up and down, Komaeda’s wails sending jolts of sensitivity spiking through him, and then Komaeda’s entire body contracts, once, twice, hard around Hinata, and he makes a white, wet mess on himself, splattering his chest, stomach, and shirt.

His fingertips still sparking with sensation, Hinata pulls out, prompting a thick splatter of fluids onto the floorboards and a strangled mewl from Komaeda as Hinata’s girth slips away from him, and with that, they’re separate entities once more, each of their minds slowly untangling from the other’s.

Komaeda’s skin is glazed with sweat and rivulets of milk-white— _irresistible—_ and Hinata leans down, brings his face close, and licks every line of Komaeda’s ribs, savouring the blend of salt and musk on Komaeda’s skin. Komaeda inhales at the contact—a sharp squeal of breath with his head thrown back—and then his prosthetic hand is pushing Hinata’s face into his stomach. Hinata kisses the soft skin, dips his tongue into Komaeda’s navel, and Komaeda’s back curves steeply upwards in response, squashing his belly into Hinata’s face.

Hinata pulls back, rubbing his nose. “Ow, damnit!”

“Sorry, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda wheezes, though he doesn’t sound remorseful in the slightest. His trembling hand goes back between his thighs, and then he lifts it to his face, parting his fingers to observe a shining strand of fluid caught between the tips.  

“Your Hope… feels amazing, inside me—”

Hinata’s face burns like it’s been branded. “Don’t say things like that!”

“It’s true,” Komaeda mumbles as he slides his soiled fingers into his mouth, sucks them messily. “Nanami-san, she said, love, was Hope, and so, your Hope… it’s inside, me…” He looks up at Hinata with a dizzy, flushed adulation.

Hinata reaches down and grabs him by the shirt collar, pulling Komaeda’s face right up to his.

“That’s it,” he snarls. “C’mere—I’m washing you out myself.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen in trepidation. “H—Hey—Wait, a second, hey—Hinata- _kuuuuun_!”

In the end, Hinata ends up having to drag a kicking, struggling Komaeda across the floor and into the bathroom.


	18. Chapter 18

“You did _what_!” Hinata has Saionji by the collar of her kimono, fury lighting up his cheeks; he’s suspected that something was off with the food, the way he’d suddenly felt so uncomfortably hot during and after dinner, but to think that—

“Yeah, I spiked the punch, so what?” Saionji protests, arms folded across her chest and lips turned down in a pout. “It’s not like it was poison or anything! I just thought it would be fun!”

“Fun?” Hinata fumes. “You thought this was fucking _fun?_ ” For all he knows, he could have just been taking advantage of Komaeda last night, and _that_ is no laughing matter.

Saionji seems to shrink under his new wave of wrath, which is rather uncharacteristic of her. Probably she’s noticed that he isn’t joking around; that her actions carry a serious gravity in them.

“W—well,” she stammers, and then seems to find a foothold. “But, Hinata-onii ended up enjoying himself, didn’t he?”

Hinata’s face is red for a different reason now. “I—well, I—” Saionji glares him down, defiant tears starting to form in the corner of her eye. “Yeah?”

“That may not have been the case for everyone else the punch, er, affected!” He glares around, looking for witnesses to support his case.

Owari turns sheepishly away, Nidai mumbles something about it “helping Nature’s Call,” and Souda looks… at Tanaka.

_…You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._

It’s then that Saionji finally loses it. “Wahhhhhh!” she wails, fist flying up to rub at her eye.

Despite her having hit her growth spurt, Hinata has to conclude that inside, she’s probably still the same, vulnerable little kid he’d met in the simulation. Koizumi steps forward, out of the crowd, and pulls her close.

“It’s all right, Hiyoko-chan,” she soothes, and then shoots Hinata a Look that snaps, _Have more delicacy, jeez!_

Hinata shoves his hands into his pockets and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

“What you didn’t wasn’t the best thing to do, Hiyoko-chan,” Koizumi says, “So you should apologize, and not do anything like that again, all right?”

“F—fine. If K—Koizumi-onee says so.”

“That’s settled, then. Why don’t you tell everyone you’re sorry now?”

Saionji wraps her arms tighter around Koizumi, so that Koizumi’s face is over her shoulder. “Sorry, everyone,” she mutters sullenly, and then, out of sight of Koizumi, sticks her tongue out at Hinata. _Why, the little—!_

“Hinata-kun…”

It’s Komaeda, traipsing up the stairs into the restaurant. He’s rubbing his eyes and yawning, but somehow manages to look sleek and well fed, like a cat after a bowl of cream. “What’s the ruckus?”

Hinata realises, too late, that Komaeda’s still in his shirt.

Everyone stares. “What?” asks Komaeda, oblivious. “Did I do something wrong? Is everyone mad at me?”

“Well,” Hinata stammers, having found his voice finally, “We were just, uh, asking Saionji to apologise for spiking the punch yesterday, and—”

“Why? There’s no need to apologise.” Komaeda frowns up at all of them, rubbing the back of his head. “I had a great time. Didn’t you, Hinata-kun?”

That’s it. That’s the last fucking straw.

_“Please, don’t tempt yourself into murder, Hinata-kun.”_

_I’m sorry, Nanami… Forgive me, but it seems like I’ll have to break this promise, after all._

A few seconds later, birds all over the island take flight in a black cloud, startled by Komaeda’s bloodcurdling scream.

 

* * *

 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and very soon the gang will have to resume work from their little holiday, but at least they’ll get to watch the New Year roll in together, sure as a wave rolling in on the sand. Though they’ll all be going their separate ways, the island won’t be devoid of activity altogether—Fukawa-san, Naegi’s little sister, Komaru, and Asahina’s little brother, Yuuta, will be using the island as a training ground for recruits of the Foundation.

Hinata had only just met Komaru at the party, but he can see that while she might not be as spectacular as her heroic, charismatic brother, she’s her own person, through and through. She’s also seemed to make fast friends with Fukawa-san, whom Hinata still feels a little hesitant to talk to, and that in itself is a feat.

Since that day, he’s shared his cottage with Komaeda, and well, it’s no secret what they do by now—Komaeda himself has inadvertently made sure of that.

Still, Hinata grumbles to Nanami’s holographic projection, was it really necessary that Komaeda, kneeling hidden under the table, suck him off in the Data Room on the island while he was trying to sort out an entire flash drive’s worth of documents with Togami?

Nanami had giggled in response. “Well, you two looked pretty hot doing it, so I didn’t mind—”

 _Wait,_ what _?_

“I can’t help it,” Nanami had pouted, grinning cheekily. “Since I can’t join you two in on the fun, it’s only right that I get to watch once in a while, right?”

“You—I—what—oh, _to hell with it_!”

Still, Hinata’s noticed that today, everyone seems to be busy. They’re all keeping him at a mysterious, unspoken arm’s length, busy with this or that or the other, and the only person who will keep him company is Nanami—not even Komaeda has time for time today, it seems. He’d said he was in the middle of testing a new crop population growth model, and if Hinata wanted to talk to him, sure, that was fine, if he could stand to wait for the next seven and a half hours.

Hinata had turned around, and walked straight out the way he’d come.

“It’s hard to believe that they’re all busy, and I have nothing to do. Maybe I should go ask Naegi-kun for some work too, huh?”

“I think it’s best you just take this opportunity to rest,” Nanami tells him. “How about we play something together—oh, Double Dragon II! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

They haven’t played in ages, it’s true, and if Hinata remembers correctly, they’d gotten up to the farm stage the last time. “Let’s take down the boss together this time, then.”

It feels good, fills his heart up with something he hadn’t even realised was missing.

 

* * *

 

When evening comes, Hinata’s still alone on the restaurant’s balcony, fiddling with the controls of a PSP. He can’t really believe he’s been gaming for a whole day, but the sun is setting, slowly and sure beneath the horizon, and in another few minutes it’s dark, and all he can hear is the gentle rush of the waves.

Everyone comes in later than usual for dinner, but it’s good to see them cheery as usual, and Hanamura’s meticulously prepared cuisine is still the best he’s ever eaten—somehow, he manages to outdo himself every time.

Hinata eats quietly, though, preferring to keep to himself just for today, and it seems that the others are pretty fine with that too, since they stay within the restaurant’s lit boundaries, not once venturing out into the al fresco portion where Hinata’s set himself up. Having tired of games, he’s begun to tell Nanami another story from their school days.

“So I’d just gone out of the gates, and there was this vending machine down the street, and there was this guy with white hair, standing right in front of it.”

“Komaeda-kun, right?”

Hinata nods. “I was watching him from across the street, so I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but he must have been trying to buy a drink or something. Only the machine got jammed, so it just ate up his money.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible!”

“Yeah, isn’t it? But then—you won’t believe it—this truck just comes speeding out of nowhere, and then it hits the curb, flies up in the air, and comes right down on that vending machine, I kid you not!”

Nanami has her hand over her mouth in amazement. “Go on!”

“And then I won’t ever know what happened to this day, but then a ton of drink cans just comes pouring out of that thing!”

“Amazing…”

“Then a bunch of people come and help him pick the drinks up—that’s you guys, I guess—and then you’re all just… gone. Vanished. It made me start to wonder if I was seeing things.”

“But you weren’t,” Nanami reassures him. “We’re all very real, Hinata-kun. Well, maybe not me, but you know what I mean.”

He winces. “Yeah.”

The cricket calls have started, twittering deep in the jungles, and when Hinata looks up at the clock, it’s actually gotten pretty late. Everyone else, he realises when he turns round to look, is gone, and the lights of the restaurant have been dimmed. Oh.

_Maybe it’s time to get back to the cottage for some sleep, then._

“Hinata-kun. What are you doing out here?” He looks up, and it’s Komaeda, approaching with a smile and a casual wave. He comes up beside them, and takes a seat at the table—now, Hinata realises, they’re just like they had been, every morning at breakfast when they’d eagerly discussed the day’s plans over tea and bread rolls.

“Nothing much, I guess,” Hinata smiles. “Just thinking about the past.”

“The past?” Komaeda props his head on his steepled fingers and gazes at him, the threads of silver in his eyes glittering. “Today’s New Year’s Eve, you know. Tomorrow is the start of a brand new beginning. Why think about the past when you could be thinking about the future?”

“The… future?”

“That’s right. What’s happened in the past is set in stone, but the future is always uncertain. Always hopeful. That’s what Nanami-san taught me. Hinata-kun, you taught me not to have regrets, and Nanami-san, you taught me to keep walking on ahead. Thanks to you two—” he spread his hands wide— “I can happily nurture the Hope I’ve always wanted to! It’s not just in the people we save, in the cities we rebuild, but also in the time I spent with the two of you.”

A warm, wistful smile spreads across his face, and his cheeks pinken with a quiet joy.

_So, he’s finally understood, huh._

Nanami is smiling too, and she reaches out her fingertips towards Hinata. He reaches for her too, careful to stop before his hand passes right through her. Sometimes, the loss assaults him in ways he’s never realised.

“How ‘bout we have a toast to the New Year?” Komaeda says, leaning down and pressing his lips to Hinata’s forehead, then blowing air kisses at Nanami, which she returns with a wink and dainty flicks of the wrist.

“A toast?”

“That’s right—to the New Year, and to your birthday.”

“Birth—” He’d completely and totally forgotten. So, was that why—

“Surprise!” The lights flick on, almost blinding him, and all of a sudden, people are pouring out into the empty room, each holding up cocktail glasses.

Hanamura has the most breathtaking cake he’s ever seen in his hands, the structure towering over his pudgy frame, and as he watches they all chorus, “Happy Birthday, Hinata-kun!”

He’s stunned; forgets how to speak, and it’s Komaeda’s hand on his back; Nanami’s voice in his ear that jolts him back into motion.

“Come on, drink. They’re all waiting.”

Hinata takes the glass that Komaeda passes him, and raises it high, fingers trembling around the stem. “To the New Year. To the future. And… to Hope!”

They all drink deeply.

 

* * *

 

Hinata’s barely set down his own glass when Komaeda’s lips find his, surprising him with the renewed taste of sweet alcohol on his tongue. Komaeda curls his fingers into Hinata’s chest, and murmurs in his ear, “Hinata-kun… I love… you, and I love you just as much, Nanami-san. I don’t think I’d ever be here, if not for the both of you.”

“Neither would I,” Nanami agrees, and Hinata is surprised to see that her holographic image is glistening with tears. She wipes them away, sniffling.

“D—don’t look, Hinata-kun. It’s embarrassing!”

Hinata fingers the chain around his neck, feels the two Hope Crystals cozied side by side against his own skin, and this time he doesn’t attempt to stop the tears that streak down his face, warm and wet against his skin like rain.

“I… love you, Komaeda, and I’ve never stopped loving you, Nanami.”

“Happy Birthday, Hinata-kun,” she murmurs, rubbing at her eyes. “Happy Birthday.”

“Aaaaaaaaand… Let’s get this party started!”

Rock music blasts suddenly in his ears, and spotlights flare up on the beach, illuminating a stage—since when had that gotten there?—and a whole crowd; everyone in the Future Foundation, singing and laughing and cheering.

Was that what they’d been up to the whole day? He’d been a fool to have missed all that.

And then an even more deafening bellow comes from below.

“Oi, Nidai-ossan! You’re slow!”

“Got it, got it! Ready when you are! One, two, and—”

An array of sparks shoot up into the sky, bursting open like ripe fruit, and raining stars down on the island.

Fireworks.

They’re beautiful—airborne flowers of hope, and watching them, with the two people he loves most in the world beside him, and his entire extended family laughing and cheering behind him and on the beach below him—it gets Hinata tearing up again for a reason he can’t explain, only it’s got something to do with the fact when something good happens to you, no matter how small, it will always feel like a god has smiled upon you with beams of heavenly sunshine, and you will never forget the taste of that dizzy, irresistible euphoria.

-fin-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finally finished this. It's a novella. Jesus, Owls. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking through it with me till the end! I really appreciate your company ^^


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